Kyle in Chains
by DanniDinmont
Summary: Kyle has a problem, and it seems that there's only one solution to it. Slash, Kyle/Cartman.
1. Change

_Howdy! I'll keep this brief as I know how annoying author notes can be. This is my first South Park fan fiction. It's a KyleXCartman slash, and I intend on making it really fucking filthy in later chapters, so if this type of thing doesn't float your boat, click the Back button now._

**Kyle in Chains**

**Chapter One - Change**

Change is a funny thing.

Like when I was younger, I really hated my hair. My stupid big frizzy red Jew hair. I hated it so much that I'd constantly hide it under my hat, only taking it off when absolutely necessary. After my bar mitzvah at thirteen, I decided now that I had 'come of age' I could do whatever the hell I wanted with my hair. So I got it cut, and even though my mom didn't speak to me for a week over it, I'm glad to say that three years later, I still have a short neat crop of gorgeous two inch long vibrant red curls. Or 'ginger head-pubes', as Kenny calls them. Regardless of that dumbass's opinion, I never wear my hat anymore. It's stashed away somewhere, under my bed I think.

Sometimes change is a good thing.

Other times, not so much.

The most significant change in my life has been that of my thoughts concerning Eric Cartman. To be clear, my actual opinion of Cartman is essentially the same as it's always been. He's an overweight, egotistical Nazi prick whose sole purpose in this world seems to be making my life as unbearable as possible. I hate him and he hates me – we remind each other of this fact at least a dozen times every day. That's the way it's always been. But in recent years, I've been feeling something other than the usual outrage and disgust when it comes to Cartman and his fucked up behaviour.

It started in fourth grade when Cartman and I made that retarded bet about the leprechaun. That stupid asshole was determined to make me suck his balls, no matter what the cost. Of course, I never actually went ahead with it, and Cartman settled for just conjuring up an imaginary image of me doing it for everyone to see, which he appeared to deem as embarrassing enough for me. But that was just it – even though I stood there watching as the imaginary version of myself 'orally imbibed' the balls of the imaginary Cartman, I didn't feel embarrassed. I certainly looked it – eyes cast downwards, face flushed, teeth grinding together. On the inside though, a tingle ran down my spine and my stomach fluttered in the most usual way. It almost felt good, like I was enjoying the humiliation.

Over the past seven years, I've had many sleepless nights trying to figure out just what in the fuck went through my head that day. I'm sure it wouldn't have bothered me so much, had it just been a one-time thing. But it seemed to continue to happen whenever one of Cartman's plans to humiliate me actually worked. Whenever that asshole got the better of me he'd get right in my face, stare into my eyes and mock me with that gloating condescending annoying-as-fuck tone of his. But there was something about the low dangerous purr of his voice and the self-satisfied gleam in his dark eyes that caused my insides to writhe pleasurably. It freaked me out to the point that I wanted to run away, but I'd never give him the satisfaction. He's always told me that he loves nothing more than to see me angry, so that's exactly what I gave him.

When I got to the age of fourteen, I figured that it was quite likely that I was gay. This didn't surprise me in the slightest, though I didn't see the point in 'coming out' until I was sure. (As things stand now, I'm pretty certain that I am, but I'm still not coming out until I'm good and ready. I've told Stan though – that's good enough for now.) As appropriate as this revelation was at the time, it didn't really bring me any closer to working out what the fuck was going on with Cartman. I dismissed the thought that I could be attracted to him, despite the fact that he did tick all the boxes of what I considered to be 'my type' - taller than me, dark hair and eyes, strong broad shoulders. After all, this was Cartman that I was talking about – the guy who still maintains to this day that Hitler was 'the most awesome person in history ever'. As a Jew, I really don't feel that I will ever be able to overlook this particular difference of opinion.

After grossing myself out over the idea that I could have a crush on that fat fuck, I made a conscious effort to stop thinking about Cartman and the way he made me feel. I've heard it be said that once you stop looking for the answers, the answers will come and find you. This seems to ring true, as an incident last week brought me closer to an answer than I've ever been. A few of the old South Park Elementary gang had met up to shoot some hoops after school. This included myself, Stan, Kenny and unfortunately, Cartman. The fucking Nazi got so pissed off that I kept blocking his shots that he snatched the ball and threw it full force into my face.

I fell to the ground and as blood ran down my chin, I could hear Cartman laughing about doing me a favour by 'breaking that fucking ugly Jew nose'. I vaguely recall Stan yelling at him, but I was more focused on Cartman's voice and the throbbing in my face. My nose felt like a wilted flower and had swollen up instantly. It should have hurt like hell, but for some reason my body just wasn't identifying the pain. The usual tingling and fluttering sensations returned, intensified by the fact that Cartman's mocking tone rang in my ears. I licked the blood from where it had poured out over my lips and nearly moaned at the taste. It was at that point that I realised, much to my horror, that I was aroused. Not a full blown boner, but I was definitely at least half-mast.

I'm not sure how the hell I go out of that situation without anyone noticing my little problem, but let's just say that when I got home I spent a good half an hour in the bathroom 'solving it'. It was without question the most screwed up experience in my life and believe me, I've had **a lot** of screwed up experiences living in this town. What kind of person needs to jack off after nearly having their nose broken by their archenemy, for crying out loud?

So, how have my feelings for Cartman changed over the years? Having considered this most recent experience along with the others from the past seven years, I have now come to the following conclusion – My name is Kyle Broflovski, I'm 16 years old and I'm a masochistic gay Jew who gets off on being hurt and humiliated by a fat neo-Nazi fucking asshole who hates my guts. And I like the taste of blood.

In short, I'm completely fucked up.

* * * * *

_Bit of a slow start, but things will start to speed up in chapter two, which should be up soon. Review if you like. Thanks for your time!_

_DD_

_xx_


	2. Research

_Author note: Many thanks to the people who have reviewed so far. This is chapter two. It's just a short one. The next one will be longer, promise._

**Chapter 2 - Research**

I'm sure if my parents knew what I spent most of my time on my computer doing, they'd take it out of my bedroom. More accurately they'd take it out of my bedroom, smash the fuck out of it with a sledgehammer and then turn said sledgehammer on me. They would never understand that I'm merely conducting research into my apparent perverted predilection so as to make it easier for me to deal with and overcome the inappropriate thoughts that are currently plaguing my mind.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

I access one of my favourite websites and click on what I feel is a video that will appropriately serve my researching needs. It shows a well built brunette guy wearing nothing but leather chaps clamping a naked skinny blond pretty boy down to a table. When the blond tries to struggle, the built guy slaps him in the face repeatedly, calling him a fucking bitch and telling him he's gonna get fucked in the ass with a screwdriver. This might not sound very appealing to some people, but then again I'm not some people.

I absently lick my lips as the brunette roughly preps his partner with lube coated fingers, all the while hissing about how he is going to give the blond an orgasm that will leave him unable to walk for the next week. This is some damn good research. But it's not even what the guy is saying that thrills me the most - it's the way he's saying it. His tone is so authoritative; it makes you feel like you would have to bend to his will just because that's what he wants you to do. He's charismatic to the point that it's intimidating. Just like Cartman...

I nearly leap out of my chair as the cell phone in the front pocket of my jeans starts ringing. I quickly hit the mute button on the video's volume control and flip my phone open to answer it.

'Hello?'

'Hey dude.'

Hearing my best friend's voice quickly brings me back to reality. I touch the back of my free hand to my forehead, taking a deep breath so as to compose myself.

'Hey Stan, what's up?'

'Not much. Just wondering if you're still coming over later and if you're up for going to that party tonight?'

I don't remember hearing about a party. Maybe I've just been too preoccupied with my own twisted thoughts lately to remember what's going on in the real world.

'Whose party is it?' I ask.

'It's some new girl from school that Bebe hangs out with. According to Wendy, she's so desperate to be popular that everyone's invited. And apparently her folks are loaded, so there's gonna be loads of free food. And alcohol.'

This doesn't really entice me as I'm not much of a drinker. I'm not even much of an eater, for that matter. But maybe a break in routine will help to take my mind off the Cartman situation.

'Cool, sounds like a plan.'

'Cartman's probably gonna be there though. You okay with that?'

That's just fucking typical. So much for taking my mind off things.

'Sure, no problem.'

I cringe as I say this. I hate lying to Stan. He knows that I'm gay and doesn't give a shit, but obviously I haven't mentioned my pain fetish to him. Or my Cartman fetish. Why the fuck would I? Why would anyone want to tell another human being something like that, unless that other human being happened to be a mental health professional? Besides, Stan would probably throw up if I told him. Actually, there's no probably about it. This is Stan we're talking about here – he'd definitely throw up.

'Well, awesome then. Catch you later!'

We hang up without saying goodbye, which isn't unusual. I turn back to the computer monitor to see the buff guy whacking his pretty little twink over the ass with a riding crop. I shut down the window as my thoughts turn to tonight. Surely if everybody in South Park High is coming to this party, avoiding Cartman shouldn't be too hard. Out of sight, out of mind - right?

I shut down the computer and get up from my desk, thinking about what I have clean to wear. As I begin hunting through my closet, the image of a smirking Cartman clutching a riding crop briefly flashes through my mind. I squeeze my eyes shut and sigh deeply.

This is gonna be a long fucking day.

* * * * *

_Thanks for reading. I'm really enjoying writing this story, so chapter three shouldn't be long._

_DD_

_xx_


	3. Medicine

_Author notes: Just wanna say a quick thanks once again for the reviews, adds to alerts/favourites, etc. Really appreciate it. Here's chapter 3. It's a long one, as promised. Apologies if it doesn't flow right in parts – because it's the first time in this story that Kyle and Cartman interact, I've been trying to get this chapter as perfect as possible for the last few days, and I've been fiddling about with it so much that it's got to the point that I'm sick to death of looking at it. So, do try to enjoy!_

**Chapter Three - Medicine**

Having had an afternoon-long mental battle with myself over whether or not to run the risk of bumping into Cartman, I eventually went to Stan's house and now we're at the party. I settled on wearing an orange plaid fitted shirt with dark green jeans and a dark green beret to top it off. Stan thinks I look like a gay golfer, which I guess is at least half true so fuck it. The night hasn't been very eventful thus far, and although I've been here over an hour I still have no idea whose party this is. Nobody seems to, actually. Nobody cares, as long as they're getting free alcohol.

We're hanging out in what appears to be a den or something. I say 'we', but it's pretty much just me at the moment. Stan has fucked off to God knows where with Wendy, and although Kenny is standing next to me, he's far too 'busy' staring at Bebe's rack to make any sort of coherent conversation. Craig and Clyde are nearby, but they're talking about hockey. I get my fill of hockey talk at home from Ike, that fucking little stereotype. Next thing you know, he'll be living in an igloo and going moose hunting.

Suddenly, my beret is knocked off my head from behind. I don't need to turn around to know that I've failed in my mission to hide from the one person I really didn't want to see tonight.

'Kyle, so nice to see you! How's the nose?'

His voice drips with sarcasm as he drawls out my name and touches my shoulder in a feigned show of concern. At least I don't get turned on when he's like this – this isn't the authoritarian of my fantasies. This is just an annoying fatass.

'Fuck off, Cartman.'

I bend over and pick my hat up from the floor, brushing it off before placing it back on my head. Refusing to look at him, I pretend to find the bubbles in the glass of Coke in my hand really interesting. I hear him sniggering behind me. He hasn't fucked off yet.

'Nice hat. You look like a fucking girl scout. Shouldn't you be somewhere selling cookies right now?'

'Like I'd bring cookies anywhere near you, fatso.'

Fuck, I wish I hadn't have said that - I need to remember that it always pisses Cartman off more when I ignore him as opposed to giving him an answer. But after a busy day of beating off to BDSM videos, I've decided that self control probably isn't my strongest suit. And in all fairness, Cartman isn't really all that fat anymore. He got a serious case of teenage angst around the time we all turned fourteen for some reason, and lost a ton of weight over a period of about six months. Don't get me wrong, he's still a goddamn fatass. He just isn't overweight to the point that it's unhealthy like he was when we were kids.

Before Cartman has a chance to reply to my comment, Stan returns with Wendy in tow as per usual. Sometimes I really wish that Wendy would just fuck off for five minutes. They're a great couple, but I can't understand why Stan wants her around all the goddamn time. I once told Kenny that I felt this way. He just grinned and said, 'There'll come a day in your life when you'll discover a special person, the one true love of your life. When that day comes, you'll understand.' I guess I'll just have to wait and see if he's right.

Craig, Clyde and Bebe come over to join our little group and we all start chatting amongst ourselves. I discreetly watch Cartman out of the corner of my eye. He looks pretty bored, opting to sip his drink and watch the snow fall outside of the nearest window rather than engage in polite conversation with anyone. His hair is unkempt as usual and he has this really faraway look in his eyes, like he's deep in thought about something.

A quick up and down glance shows me he's dressed casually in blue jeans, a dark grey shirt, a red scarf and his favourite black leather jacket. He really loves that jacket – not only does it make him look slimmer, but he also he thinks it makes him look 'really hardcore-macho and badass-cool'. I would have to agree. He looks pretty hot in it.

If I'm being totally honest, he is sort of physically attractive in his own way. Fair enough, he's carrying more than just a couple of extra pounds, but the weight kinda suits him – like it gives him character or something gay like that. And besides, nobody's perfect. I have my big stupid Jew nose, so who am I to judge anyone?

I'm distracted from scrutinizing Cartman when Bebe struts passed me, swaying her hips as she goes. Don't get me wrong – it's her outfit that I'm looking at. I don't mean to sound like a typical bitchy gay man, but she dresses like a colour-blind pole dancer. Purple miniskirt, red tube top and hot pink stiletto heels – hideous! She must have been on her way to the kitchen as Kenny announces that he's gonna go help her. Poor guy - he worships the ground her breasts walk on, and they just don't seem interested.

'Anyone want another drink while I'm in there? Kyle, what's yours? Pepsi?'

I glance down at my nearly empty glass and hand it to him.

'Coke please, Ken. You know I hate Pepsi.'

I really do, it's gross. Too fucking sweet and makes me piss like a horse. As Kenny scuttles into the kitchen after Bebe, Cartman seems to snap out of his snow-induced trance and looks over at me, eyebrow raised.

'They're the same thing.'

'Huh?

He rolls his eyes and takes a step towards me.

'Pepsi and Coke are the same fucking thing.'

Cartman takes a swig from the beer bottle in his hand, eyes still locked on mine. I was wondering when this would happen. It just wouldn't be a party in South Park without a good old fashioned pointless argument between the resident Nazi and his Jewish counterpart.

'Cartman, if they were the same thing, they wouldn't be two different brands. They taste totally different to each other.'

'Oh, that's such bullcrap.'

I hear Stan sigh irritably. You would have thought that he'd be used to our trivial disagreements by now, but even after all this time they still piss him off. I don't care though and neither does Cartman. If it pissed Stan off that much, he wouldn't hang around to observe us doing it.

'Okay then fatass. If they do in fact taste the same, then why do I prefer Coke to Pepsi?'

'Simple. The recipe of Coke is essentially the same as that of Pepsi, except for one key ingredient - a light sprinkling of nose candy.'

'What the fuck are you talking about?'

A small crowd has gathered. It doesn't faze either one of us. We're used to people finding our petty disputes entertaining. I take up my usual stance of 'eyebrows knotted, arms folded' while Cartman explains his theory.

'The caffeine in Coke is addictive enough by itself. But with so many caffeine based soft drink products on the market, how do Coca Cola edge out their rivals? Easy - they make their drink the most addictive by adding a small amount of cocaine to the recipe. It's not the taste that you like, Kyle. Just the blow.'

'That's completely retarded. There's no crack in Coke. It tastes different to Pepsi because the syrup is made differently. **You** just can't taste the difference because the amount of processed crap that you eat has fucked up your sense of taste.'

Cartman glares at me in response to this. He looks thoughtful for a moment, and the glare melts into a sly smile. I feel a bet coming on.

'Okay then, kosher boy. If your palate is so finely tuned, how about a taste test to see if you actually can tell the difference?'

'Fine. But if I can do it, you have to formerly apologise to me in front of everyone here for busting my nose open the other day.'

This concept seems to disturb Cartman a little bit. He hates having to apologise, especially to me. He reluctantly nods.

'Alright then, but if you fail, you have to do five shots of whiskey. One after the other. Deal?'

That bastard. I hardly ever drink. He knows I'd struggle to handle one shot, let alone... I raise an eyebrow. 'Why five shots of whiskey?'

'Five's a good number when it comes to whiskey shots. I think there's some country song named after it... Anyway, deal?'

He extends his hand for me to shake. As I weigh up my options, I'm confident that I can win, so I clutch his hand enthusiastically.

'Okay, deal.'

Stan taps my shoulder as Cartman breaks contact with me and yells for someone to help him prepare for the taste test.

'Dude, I thought you'd learnt your lesson about making bets with Cartman long ago.'

'But he's wrong,' I offer lamely.

'It's such a stupid thing to argue about.'

He directs this remark more at Wendy than at me, so I'll assume that he's done trying to convince me to drop this particular issue. It's not that stupid of a thing to argue about. In fact, it's a very universal topic. Everybody loves carbonated drinks, right?

Cartman returns, two glasses filled with soda in his hands. He places them down on a table in the corner of the room, pulls a chair out from under the table and gestures for me to take a seat. I flop down in the chair and inspect the two glasses. They look identical, but I'm sure that I'll be able to taste the difference. Suddenly, a piece of red material drops in front of my face. I brush it away and glance up at Cartman, looking a lot more irritated than what I'm actually feeling.

'What the hell are you doing?'

'Blindfolding you, dipshit!'

He's taken his scarf off to use as a blindfold. I feel a lump in my throat – the guy I fantasize about dominating me sexually wants to blindfold me with an item of his own clothing. That's so cool and so fucked up all at once.

'Why is that necessary? He didn't even see you fill the glasses.'

Thanks so much for your input, Wendy. Now kindly shut the fuck up and let the nice Nazi blindfold me. Cartman snorts, seemingly in agreement with my secret thoughts.

'It's necessary so that Kyle doesn't try any sneaky Jewish tactics, like reading my mind or body language or some other shit.'

Before I can defend my people from Cartman's latest verbal assault, he ties the makeshift blindfold over my eyes, securing it with an unnecessarily forceful tug. I shudder as a dozen dirty thoughts enter my mind all at once. I'm glad that the scarf covers most of the top half of my face as I swear I'm going to blush. Hopefully if anyone notices, they'll assume it's with anger over the 'sneaky Jew' comments. I feel Cartman's warm breath on my right ear as he hisses to me huskily.

'You're going down, Jew boy.'

I'm also very glad that the bottom half of my body is hidden under the table right now.

'In your dreams, fatass.'

In mine, is more likely.

Cartman pushes the first glass into my hand and I take a slow sip. That's definitely Coke because I don't feel the urge to spit it out. I place the glass back down on the table in front of me and Cartman takes my hand and places the second glass into it. _His hands are really soft._ I hesitate as I push that intrusive thought from my mind before bringing the glass to my lips. I don't feel like spitting this one out either. So I swallow. Another dozen naughty thoughts flash through my head. Focus, goddamn it...

'Er...could I have the first one again?'

I hear Cartman sigh impatiently as he takes the glass from my hand and replaces it with the first glass again. I don't know why he's getting so agitated since it's looking very likely that he's going to beat me. I take another sip from the first glass. I can't detect any difference in the taste. I can't believe he was right.

'So Kyle, which one is the Coke? What is that monkey on your back telling you?'

I'll just have to take a guess. At least I've got a good fifty-fifty chance of getting it right.

'The second one.'

'Are you sure?'

I nod slowly, removing my blindfold just as Cartman breaks out into maniacal laughter. He punches the air in triumph and runs from the room shouting like a lunatic. I take it I guessed incorrectly? I glance at Stan who closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose just as Cartman returns, shot glasses and a bottle of scotch in hand. With amazing speed, he slams the glasses down on the table in front of me in a line and fills each one with the whiskey.

'Take your medicine, asshole!'

I look blankly at the alcohol and frown. The most alcohol I've ever consumed in one go before now was two small glasses of red wine when Stan's parents had this big dinner for him to celebrate his sixteenth birthday. I had a splitting headache afterwards, despite the fact that it took me three hours to drink them. If I drink all of this shit, I'll be totally fucking trashed. There's gotta be a way out of this. Think Kyle, think!

'How do I know you're telling the truth about which glass was which?'

'Butters filled the glasses, dickhead. Are you calling Butters a liar?'

'I don't tell lies, Kyle,' Butter pipes up defensively from the back of the room.

I nod, flashing Butters a reassuring smile. Butters is incapable of lying. I guess I lost fair and square, so I need to suck it up and take it like a man. I look back at the line of shots, leaning forward in my chair to sniff at the alcohol curiously. I've never had whiskey before. It smells like a permanent marker. Cartman laughs.

'What's wrong? Is the high and mighty Jew scared of a little booze.'

I frown. 'I'm not scared, you fat bastard! I'm just not used to drinking hard alcohol.'

'Kyle, you don't have to drink them if you don't want to.'

Stan has decided to take control and moves to take the shot glasses away from me, but his hands are knocked away by Cartman.

'Yes he does! He lost the bet.'

'He'll get sick if he drinks all that, you fucking idiot.'

'Well, he should have thought about that before-'

Cartman trails off as he sees me bring the first shot glass to my lips. My insides clench in disgust as the golden liquid pours down my throat. This stuff tastes like a burning hunk of wood covered in shit. Why would anyone drink this crap for pleasure? I want to get this over with quickly so I down the contents of the other four glasses, spluttering only once after swallowing my third mouthful. As the fifth empty glass hits the table everyone in the room cheers, with the exception of Stan and Wendy who both look horrified.

That was likely one of the stupidest things I've ever done, but the way Cartman is grinning makes me feel really happy that I did it. He looks genuinely impressed, nodding at me approvingly. I blush, though I don't think he notices. Judging by the sudden tightening of my jeans, I really like the fact that I've made him so pleased.

'My my, Kyle,' he drawls. 'It looks like there's more to you than being a bothersome Jew after all.'

Cartman, you don't know the half of it.

* * * * *

_I hope that was okay. I really kind of struggled on the last page or so. Let me know what you thought. Chapter four coming soon!_

_DD_

_xx_


	4. Wasted

Author notes: Good day to you! This is chapter four. This was quite tough to write as I've never wrote anyone drunk before. I think I've failed epically. But I shall let you be the judge of that, dear reader. Quick thanks once again to the people who have reviewed, alerted, etc. Anyway...enjoy!

**Chapter Four - Wasted**

I really, really shouldn't have had those shots.

After the initial excitement of 'Kyle did five shot of whiskey, woo-hoo!' died down, relative normalcy resumed. I was okay for the first ten minutes or so, just happily sitting at the table waiting for my boner to disappear. It wasn't really helped along by the fact that Cartman had sat down opposite me, his foot accidentally brushing against mine every so often under the table. I guess the ability to drink hard alcohol is something he admires, as he was actually talking to me like I was a human being for once. Or maybe it was just because he had been drinking too.

Then, I began to change. Whenever Cartman said anything even vaguely funny, I started giggling uncontrollably. This appeared to amuse him greatly, so he leaned forward in his chair and told me all of the funniest jokes he could think of. He's actually quite funny when the jokes he's making aren't anti-Semitic. As we sat there, I noticed that we were getting quite a few odd looks from the people we know – like they were thinking 'why the hell are the Nazi and the Jew getting along so well? Why aren't they yelling at each other or fighting over something random for our amusement like they normally do?'

Sorry dudes, we're on a break.

'Well, I'm hungry,' Cartman says suddenly, standing to stretch his back. 'I'm gonna go get some food.'

I might as well follow. As I stand up, my head feels like its spinning. My vision is kinda hazy and I'm really tired all of a sudden, but the last thing I want to do right now is sleep. It's not often that I can hold an entire conversation with Cartman without at least one of us making a death threat to the other at some point. I figure that the world is probably coming to an end – I really don't wanna be asleep for something like that.

Next thing I know, we're in the room where the food is laid out. I have no idea what room exactly - I only vaguely recall walking here.

'What's that you've got?' I ask.

Cartman looks at what I point to on his plate – looks like a little pile of bones.

'Spare ribs.'

'What's those taste like?'

Yeah, fuck grammar - I'm drunk. Cartman smirks, holding one of the ribs out to me.

'Why don't you find out?'

I match his smirk and take the rib from him, deliberately brushing my fingers against his as I do so.

_Little do you know, this isn't the first time you've given me a bone._

I relish this mischievous thought as I curiously chew on the sweet tasting meat. I quickly decide that ribs are tasty but they also kinda suck. There's hardly any meat on them. I feel like a tramp who has found someone's half eaten pork chop in a trashcan. The sauce stuff is delicious though - so much so that when I'm done picking the meat away, I decide to indulge myself. I trail my tongue and lips from one end of the rib to the other, suckling and licking at the sauce until I'm left with only a white bone. When I finish, I glance back at Cartman. He's been watching me, smirking with a single eyebrow raised. I can't help but wonder what he was thinking as I sucked every drop of sticky sauce from that bone.

Suddenly, my nice clean bone is snatched from my hand. I turn around to meet Stan's eyes. He doesn't look very happy.

'Kyle, what the hell are you doing?'

He doesn't sound very happy either. I look from Stan to the rib bone, then to Cartman and then back to Stan again.

'Dude, I'm eating.'

Stan rolls his eyes. 'Why are you eating ribs?'

'They didn't have any gefilte fish.'

Hey look, Kyle made a funny! Cartman sniggers. Stan doesn't.

'You do realise that ribs are made from pigs, right?'

Oh, right. I'm not supposed to eat pig, am I? Oops. Letting out one of his obnoxious 'I'm so bored with this conversation' yawns, Cartman reaches over to Stan and takes the bone from him, tossing it over his shoulder carelessly.

'Relax, hippie. Is it really such a big deal for a Jew to eat pig?'

I nod slowly. It **is **a big deal, really. Especially to my parents. It was bad enough when I was 12, telling them that I didn't want to eat kosher meat anymore after Cartman told me how it was prepared. My mom would go absolutely ape shit if she found out I'd eaten the meat of a pig. I guess there's a simple enough solution to the matter though – I just won't tell her.

'It's very big deal, Cartman,' Stan says sternly. 'It's forbidden in Jewish culture.'

'I like doing forbidden things sometimes.'

Both of my friends look at me strangely. I blush a little. As true as that statement is, I don't quite know why I felt the need to say it. Cartman breaks into a grin.

'Really? Like what?'

Just as I'm about to answer, Stan grabs my hand and pulls me across the room. I think he wants to have one of our super best friend heart-to-hearts. That's cool. It's been a while since we've had one.

'Dude, I really think you need to go home.'

My mind and body both scream 'nay'. I concur.

'Why go home? I'm having lots of fun! And Cartman is being really nice to me.'

Stan frowns. 'You're drunk.'

'So is pretty much everyone else.'

I gesture to Craig who is unconscious and snoring on a nearby couch, and to Clyde and Kenny who are busy trying to shave off Craig's eyebrow without waking him. Stan shakes his head in disbelief.

'They're used to it, you're not. You need to go home, sober up and get some sleep before you do something to embarrass yourself.'

I'm surprised at how Stan's words make me feel. I'll always freely admit to being a stubborn bastard. I was when I was younger and I am even more so now that I'm a teenager. If someone had said something like that to me usually, I would have told them to mind their own goddamn business, then gone and drank another five shots of whiskey just to spite them. But for some reason, I'm really touched that Stan seems to care so much. I almost feel like crying. How retarded.

'You're such a good super best friend, Stan!'

I feel his body tense as I throw my arms around him, embracing him tightly.

'Er...it's cool, dude.'

I can tell he's a bit uncomfortable with this, and to be honest I am too. But for some reason, I continue snuggling into him and babbling.

'Really, you are. I act like such a shmuck sometimes and you're always so patient with me. You're great, dude. I love you so much.'

Before he can respond, I lean in and give him a firm peck on the lips. Stan jumps back in shock and gawks at me, wide eyed. We both glance around the room to see pretty much everyone staring at us. Wendy looks so furious, it's laughable. At least Cartman seems to think so anyway. I turn to Stan to see his eyes shut, the bridge of his nose firmly pinched between his index finger and thumb. He's been doing that a lot tonight.

'Kyle...go home.'

I smile apprehensively. I'm about to explain that I just got caught up in the moment, but I notice that Wendy is approaching fast, like some kind of purple heat-seeking missile. So I quickly mutter my agreement/apology/farewell in one short garbled sentence and stagger towards the doorway. I pass a chuckling Cartman on my way.

'You're not leaving, are you? You're the life and soul of this piece of shit party, Jew!'

I don't stop to answer, making a mad dash for the exit as I suddenly feel the urge to throw up. I pull open the front door and stumble out into the cold, tripping on the doorstep as I go. Astounded that I don't fall flat on my face, I stand still for a minute breathing in the night air. It makes me feel a little better. But did I really just kiss my best friend? Not that it meant anything, because I definitely don't like Stan in that way. Regardless, I can't decide whether or not doing that was stupider than doing the shots. Or stupider than sucking suggestively on a spare rib in front of Cartman.

Suddenly, there are heavy footsteps on the doorstep behind me.

'Later, assholes!'

The door slams shut and Cartman appears beside me. I quirk an eyebrow at him.

'You're leaving too?'

He glances at my face, no doubt observing how ill I'm assuming I look. Cartman pushes his hands into the pockets of his jacket and nods.

'That party sucks ass. Besides, you just made out with Stan and I haven't had a chance to rip on you for it yet.'

I groan, feeling sick again all of a sudden. Cartman laughs as we walk away from the house and down the street together.

'Did you see Stan's face when you kissed him? Fucking priceless! Wendy looked like she wanted to cut your balls off!'

'Of course she did! I kissed her boyfriend in front of all our friends!'

Cartman snorts, rolling his eyes. 'So what? It was only on the lips! It's not like you dropped to your knees and offered to suck him off or something. Stupid bitch overreacted as usual. Probably just worried that Stan finds you more attractive than her dowdy ass.'

As Cartman is talking, another wave of nausea suddenly hits me and the entire contents of my stomach erupts from my mouth and nose. That was the grossest tasting puke ever, like pure stomach acid. I officially feel like shit, but I'm about to feel even worse as I finally realise exactly what I barfed on. Or more accurately, who.

'Dude! You fucking puked all over my jacket! Fucking sick! I oughta kick your ass, Kyle!'

Next thing I know, my ass hits the sidewalk. I landed with an audible thump, but for whatever reason it didn't hurt. I look up to see Cartman dusting off his hands but making no move to kick my ass, apparently satisfied with having merely pushed me down. He removes his jacket carefully, shaking the puke off of it into the street. I open my mouth to apologise, but when Cartman turns around to scowl at me, I suddenly feel angry.

'Don't look at me like that! This is all your fault for getting me drunk, fatass!'

'You only had five shots! Single measures! Maybe if you weren't such a fucking pussy and could handle your drink a little better...'

He trails off as he notices a single tear roll down my face. Well, aren't I just a whirlwind of destruction? In the space of one evening, I've managed to get wasted, break one of the laws of kashrut, molest my best friend and make an ass of myself in front of everyone I know. Now, having just puked all over the object of my pent-up sexual desires, I'm on my ass in a mound of snow with tears on my cheeks and vomit on my chin. Aren't I just so fucking clever? For lack of anything better to do, Cartman tries his hand at saying something reassuring and fails.

'Just go home. I'm sure your hippie-fag boyfriend will have forgiven you by morning.'

'I can't go home like this! My mom will fucking kill me!'

My voice cracks pathetically as more tears come. Cartman is looking down at me with a look of sheer disgust on his face. I totally ashamed for letting him see me like this, but like so many times before, the shame feels so good. I pull my knees up to my chest, dropping my head forward to hide my face as I start to blush again. I thought alcohol was meant to slow down your blood flow. It's clearly not doing its fucking job properly judging by the painful throbbing inside of my jeans. I have such serious problems right now.

Cartman sighs impatiently. 'So what are you gonna do? Just sit in the snow sobbing like a date-rape victim on prom night until you sober up?'

'Yes.'

I pout moodily, hugging my legs to me tighter as if to make my point, but all this action does is put more strain on my pulsating crotch. A few moments of silence pass as I await Cartman's response to my abrupt, albeit muffled, reply to his distastefully worded question. I start to think he might have given up and gone home until I'm roughly dragged to my feet by the collar of my shirt.

'Get your crying ass off of the ground, you fucking pansy. We're going to my place.'

Turning around to face him, I rub at my eyes theatrically so as to keep his attention above my waistline. The last thing I need is Cartman noticing me wielding the mighty Excalibur. Not that it would really make much difference at this point in time. In fact, it sounds like the ideal end to this marvellous evening. I look at Cartman's face. The expression of disgust is still there, but isn't as prominent as before. I could swear that there's a hint of pity in his eyes, but then I remember that this is Eric Cartman here. It's most likely self pity, which I guess is understandable – he **is** covered in my vomit, after all.

Just as we start walking in the direction of his house, Cartman turns around to face me so fast that I almost slam into him. He grabs the front of my shirt in a clenched fist and pulls my face to his. His lips are close enough to mine that they would touch if I inched forward, but I daren't. Our eyes meet – his seem to almost burn with inner fury. He's so intense. If he looks at me like this for much longer, I swear I'm gonna make a mess of my jeans. After a couple of seconds, he speaks.

'But if you ever tell anyone that I helped you out in any way whatsoever, I'll break more than just your nose. Got it, Jew rat?'

He releases me when I nod, turning to march off up the street as I trail along behind him. I just hope he's pissed off enough about this situation that he doesn't turn back to check on me at any point. It's pretty hard to walk like a normal person when you're drunk and your gun's cocked and loaded. I really do appreciate what he's doing though – he could have just left me crying on the sidewalk and went home. But at the same time, I'm apprehensive. Like I've said so many times before, this **is** Eric Cartman we're talking about here – the guy who never does anything for anyone unless there's something for him to gain from it.

I wonder what he's hoping to gain from me tonight.

* * * * *

_So, that's chapter four. I've got plans for at least fifteen possible chapters for this story, which is scary since this is only the fourth. I have a lot of work to do. Anyway, thanks for reading, and the review button is there if you wanna use it. Ciao for now!_

_DD_

_xx_


	5. Cherry

_Author notes: Thanks to everyone who has been leaving comments and adding me to things and stuff. Love you for it! Here's chapter five. Warning- gets steamy towards the end! Enjoy!_

**Chapter Five - Cherry**

Cartman's house was dark and silent as we entered through the front door. He had mentioned earlier that his mom was out of town on a 'business trip'. I didn't pry for details. The journey here had been silent. The walk had helped clear my head a little and I had managed to get rid of my boner thanks to the lingering taste of bile in the back of my throat being a total turn-off. Leaving the key in the door where he'd locked it behind us, Cartman strode by me and made his way up the stairs.

'Well, since I'm covered in Jew barf, I'm gonna go take a shower. I guess you can use it when I'm done, if you want. In the meantime, make yourself useful and get some coffee brewed. And try not to throw up again – we've just had the kitchen floor retiled.'

His voice fades slightly as he ascends the staircase, but I got the basic gist of what he said. I obediently wander across the living room into the kitchen and start up the coffee maker, trying my hardest not to think about Cartman upstairs in the shower. As the coffee started to drip into the pot, I went to the sink to splash some cold water on my face. My eyes feel so sore – I haven't cried like that in a while. Stupid whiskey.

I don't usually drink coffee, but I desperately want to sober up before I do or say something stupid again. I pour myself a mug of black, adding a little water from the cold faucet so I can drink it quicker. By the time I've finished, Cartman appears in the kitchen doorway, hair still wet from the shower. He's wearing silky burgundy pyjamas. He looks good in that colour. I lick my lips unconsciously, trying not to stare. I've got to get a hold of myself. Just as I'm about to pour myself another cup of coffee, Cartman approaches and looks me up and down.

'Your clothes are wet.'

I look down at myself. He's right – my shirt and jeans are still damp from where I was sitting in the snow. Cartman shrugs and starts fixing himself a cup of coffee. He's deliberately not making eye contact with me. Helping 'the Jew' out in his time of need must be a real strain on Cartman's sense of pride.

'You can hang them up somewhere to dry if you want, I don't care where. There's a t-shirt hanging up on the back of the bathroom door that you can wear for the time being. It'll probably be a bit big on you, but I guess it beats having your scrawny Jewish ass running round my house naked.'

I frown at that – I'm **not** scrawny. I've played basketball since I was nine, and although I'm skinny, I have some degree of muscle tone. It's very subtle, but it's definitely there. I consider voicing these thoughts, but I really can't be bothered with an argument right now. As I turn to make my way upstairs, Cartman speaks again.

'Oh, and there's a spare toothbrush underneath the bathroom sink if you wanna get the taste of scotch, ribs and vomit out of your mouth.'

I wonder if Cartman is being so thoughtful deliberately to freak me out. Or maybe he's just doing it so he can get in more wisecracks about me puking on him. I turn back to look at him – he still has his back to me. This is the longest I've ever seen anyone take to pour coffee into a cup. I'm not quite sure what to say.

'Err...thank yo-'

Cartman clears his throat, interrupting me. 'It's getting late. You should really hurry up and take your shower.'

He clearly doesn't want me to thank him, so I decide to cooperate and head upstairs to the bathroom. As the door closes behind me, the t-shirt Cartman told me about falls from the hanger on the back of the door. I pick it up and inspect it briefly – I don't like wearing blue and it probably will be too big for me, but I'm strangely looking forward to wearing it. I hang it back up and start unbuttoning my shirt. The part of me that's wary of Cartman wants me to check the room for hidden cameras before taking off my clothes. I choose to ignore this notion. At least if Cartman is secretly filming me naked so he can use the footage to blackmail me at a later date, he'll also have video evidence that I'm clearly not as scrawny as he thinks I am.

Once my shirt and jeans are off, I move a couple of towels off of the heated towel rack so I can hang up my clothes. As I go to slide off my boxers, I realise that they're pretty wet from being in the snow too. I hang them up beside my clothes, but I doubt they'll be dry in time for me finishing my shower. I carefully step into the bathtub and switch the shower on. Hot water cascades over me, and I start to feel normal again. I pick up a bar of soap from the edge of the bath. As I begin washing myself, it hits me that Cartman was just in here naked, probably using this very bar of soap to wash himself with. As tantalising as this thought is and as desperate as I am for some sort of release after the night I've had, I just wouldn't feel right polishing my piece in Cartman's bathroom. Instead, I settle for giving Little Kyle an extra thorough wash and making promises to give him some much needed attention when I finally get home.

I dry off with one of the towels I removed from the rack earlier and take Cartman's big blue t-shirt down from the back of the bathroom door. I breathe in the scent of the material as I slip it over my head – it smells like lavender fabric softener, gingerbread and Cheesy Poofs. In other words, it smells like Cartman. I'm disgusted at myself for knowing this. I'm like some sort of swooning fan-girl! When I get the t-shirt on properly, the sleeves come down to my elbows and the hem comes down to just above my knees. It's more like a poncho. At least I can get away with not wearing any underwear with this on.

I open the door to the cupboard underneath the sink and am startled when a dozen or so packaged toothbrushes fall out on the bathroom floor. I quickly claim a green toothbrush as my own and shove the rest back into the cupboard.

Never in my life have I been so happy to be brushing my teeth. After using about half a tube of toothpaste and a little of Cartman's mouthwash, I finally have my mouth feeling normal again. As I was brushing, something occurred to me that I found kind of strange – tonight, I kissed a guy right in front of Cartman and he hasn't made any derogatory comments about it yet. I mean, he laughed about Stan getting embarrassed and Wendy getting pissed off, but he hasn't said anything about me and what I did. I thought he would have at least called me a fag or something. It's strange, but intriguing also.

I wonder if Stan's still annoyed with me... Suddenly, my cell phone beeps inside my jeans pocket. I take my jeans down from the towel rack and fish the phone out to find a text message from Stan:

'DID U GET HOME ALLRITE??? - SM'

I shudder slightly - it's really creepy when you're thinking about someone just as they call or text you. I quickly send a message back to him before switching the phone off, slipping it back into my pocket and replacing my jeans on the rack:

'YEAH, THANKS. HOPE I DIDNT RUIN YOUR NIGHT. IM SORRY - KB'

I could have gone into detail about coming home with Cartman, but I doubt Stan would be interested right now and I did promise Cartman that I wouldn't tell anyone that he'd helped me. After clearing up any water I'd dripped onto the bathroom floor, I drop my wet towel into the laundry basket and headed back downstairs. Cartman is sitting on the couch in the living room, coffee cup in hand. The room is lit only by a lampshade in the corner of the room. It's kind of cosy. As I cross the room to the couch, I notice Cartman glance at me and grin, no doubt at how massive his t-shirt looks on me. I roll my eyes in recognition of this and flop down on the couch next to him.

'How come there's so many toothbrushes in your bathroom?'

He sighs. 'My mom keeps them around for her 'gentleman callers'.'

He sounds somewhat resentful, and I suddenly feel sorry for him. It can't be easy having the town whore as a mother. He must have been expecting me to make some sort of smartass remark, as he quickly continues talking.

'Speaking of moms, I just spoke to yours. Told her that you'd come over to my place from Stan's to help me study, and that we'd fallen asleep. She said to tell you to get home early in the morning so that you can take your insulin. I forgot that you were freakin' diabetic. No wonder you puked. Fuck knows what that alcohol's done to you.'

I consider pointing out that alcohol doesn't really affect diabetes, but I could swear that he sounds ever so slightly concerned and so I say nothing. There's a silence as Cartman sips his coffee.

'Look Cartman, I just wanted to say thanks for-'

'Don't you dare say the 'T' word to me, Broflovski!'

I'm a little shocked at how harsh he sounds. He doesn't look at me, just staring angrily into his coffee cup. He quickly swallows the remaining contents of the cup and finally looks at me, face expressionless.

'Let's just say you owe me.'

I nod as Cartman visibly relaxes following his outburst. He leans forward to place his empty cup on the coffee table in front of us. When he sits back, it feels like he's somehow moved closer to me. I can feel the heat from his body radiating against mine and suddenly have images of naked flesh flashing through my mind. I feel that familiar tingle and scoot away from him a little.

'Er...so, how can I repay you?'

Probably not the best topic of discussion I could have chosen. Cartman gets that look about him that tells me he's gonna do something to majorly piss me off. He pretends to look like he's deep in thought, eyes cast upwards as he strokes his chin.

'I've done you a lot of favours tonight, Kyle. I leave behind free booze and food to attend to your drunken ass. You barfed on me, and I let it slide even though you did it all over my favourite fucking jacket. I've allowed you to use my shower, drink my coffee and wear my clothes. And most importantly, I saved you from the wrath of your charming mother. What could I possibly want from you in return for all of that? What could I want from Kyle? Let's see...'

'Just spill it, Cartman!'

I snap because he's successfully getting me riled up - not only by reminding me of what a dick I've made of myself tonight, but also because of the sinister quality to his low drawling voice. I can practically feel my cock twitching as he looks me in the eye, a deranged grin plastered across his ruggedly handsome face.

'Are you still a virgin, Kyle?'

'What?!'

My eyes nearly fall out of my head. I can't believe he just asked me that, especially in **that** tone of voice. I suddenly become very aware that I have no underwear on, and shift on the couch to ensure that I don't start pitching a tent. Cartman looks at me as if he can't understand why I'd be struggling to answer such a straightforward question.

'A simple yes or no answer will suffice, Kyle.'

Cartman grins wider as I blush and look away. He's fucking loving this. And as it happens, so am I.

'Yes.'

'I see. Interesting...'

I jump when one of Cartman's hands slides up onto my knee and squeezes gently. The other reaches over to cup my chin and turn my face back around to look at his.

'In that case, that's what I want.'

'Excuse me?'

Chuckling, Cartman brings his face forward so close to mine that the tips of our nose are touching. His dark eyes burn with the pleasure of his mischief as they gaze into my green ones. His breathe is hot and fragrant against my lips as he speaks.

'I think it's the least you could do for me. I wanna pop your little Jew cherry, Kyle.'

My heart stops in my chest as his grip on my knee tightens slightly. As marvellously hot as this is making me, and as much as I'd like him to be, I know he's not serious. I can tell by his teasing facial expression that he's just trying to freak me out. Two can play at this game though. Smiling lasciviously, I take a deep even breath before giving my response.

'Go ahead.'

Cartman's smirk fades instantly and he jumps back from me like I've just bitten him.

'What the hell?!'

He looks completely stunned. I like this game. Though part of me – the part that is still tipsy and incredibly horny - wonders if I could actually convince him to 'pop my cherry', as he put it. Would I really want Cartman to be my first time though? I quickly weigh the value of my virginity against how badly I want Cartman to fuck my brains out. It's a no contest.

'You heard me. If that's what you want, take it. It's yours.'

Cartman looks at me like I've gone completely mental. 'I was kidding, Kyle!'

'I'm not.'

I almost can't believe that I'm doing this, but if it gets me what I want in the end then I really don't care. However, it does occur to me that I'm totally putting myself at risk here – even though I've had my suspicions, I have no idea whether or not Cartman is even remotely gay, and he could quite easily kick the shit out of me for coming onto him like this. On the other hand, I'd probably quite enjoy that, so it's pretty much a win-win situation for me. Judging by the look in his eyes, I don't think he finds the idea all that repulsive anyway.

'You're...seriously?'

'I'm seriously.'

He eyes me warily. 'You're wasted.'

I pout at this. 'I am not! And so what if I was? Don't tell me that you'd feel guilty for taking advantage of me, because that's bullshit. You never feel guilty for anything.'

Smiling sweetly, I chew on my bottom lip as slowly slide closer to Cartman. His body tenses slightly as I snake my arm around his shoulders and lean into him, trying to look as innocent as possible as I gaze into his eyes.

'Don't you want to?' I purr.

Cartman opens his mouth to reply, but no sound comes out. He looks really freaked out. This is fun.

'A simple yes or no answer will suffice, Cartman.'

Unable to break his eyes away from my gaze, he raises an eyebrow as I mock his tone from earlier. I think his face is red but I can't really tell in such dim lighting. Suddenly feeling very brave, I place my free hand on the centre of Cartman's chest and slide it down his front until I reach the elasticised waistband of his pyjama bottoms. He jumps and lets out a short squeal of surprise when I trail my fingers over the growing bulge.

I'm suddenly glad the lighting is poor as I can feel my face flush as well. I can't believe he's actually getting hard over what I'm doing – I mean, I'm barely touching him. Regardless, I can't afford to blow this by growing shy all of a sudden, so I chuckle softly as I stroke the hardening area for a second time.

'I'll take that as a yes.'

I crane my neck to the side so that I can lick and nibble at his earlobe – apparently this is supposed to feel really good, though I can't really say for sure having never had it done to me. A shuddery breath escapes Cartman's lips. In response, I slowly move to straddle his hips, moving my face downwards to kiss his neck. I slide my hands back up his torso and caress his shoulders in my palms. His shoulders feel so fucking good to touch, and I express this by moaning as my teeth gently graze the skin of Cartman's neck.

Suddenly I feel Cartman's hands on my lower back as he pulls me closer to him. That's all well and good, but I really wish he would get more into what we're doing. This dominance thing is pretty fun, but I would much prefer him to take control. Pushing my crotch against his to let him know I'm as wound-up as him, I reach to undo the top button of his pyjama shirt. Noticing this, he suddenly grabs my hands in his, halting my actions. I pull back and look into his face. His eyes are blazing with desire, but he also seems a little sceptical.

'Why would you want to do this with me?'

A perfectly reasonable question, to which I give a perfectly reasonable response.

'Because I think it'll be awesome.'

Cartman stares at me for a long time, as if scanning for any trace of insincerity. He won't find any – I want to do this so badly, it scares me. I want him to take me right here on this couch, to fuck me until I'm bleeding and screaming his name. My eyes seem to communicate this effectively, as Cartman slowly breaks into a fiendish smile.

'You bet your fucking ass it will.'

End of conversation.

Before I have a chance to think, Cartman's tongue is invading my mouth. He tastes like coffee and toothpaste, but that combination is fucking delicious as far as I'm concerned. I kiss back with a passion I didn't know I had and hear him moan in reply. His hands reach round to squeeze at my ass as I resume unbuttoning his shirt.

When I'm halfway done, I'm suddenly flipped onto my back on the couch. Cartman pounces on top of me, pinning me against the cushions as our lips meet once again. My fingernails dig into Cartman's shoulders as he straddles my hips and slides his hand up my inner thigh. When it reaches the top, I feel Cartman's lips curl into a smile against mine. I hiss and throw my head back against the arm of the couch as he experiments with fondling my shaft. It feels like I've waited forever for those fingers to touch me like that.

I'm enjoying this so much, but heavy petting just isn't going to be enough to satisfy me. Cartman probably just doesn't realise what I want. I'll just have to drop a subtle hint. I break off the kiss.

'Do you have to be so goddamn gentle? I'm not gonna fucking break, dude.'

So much for subtly. Cartman frowns in confusion, then gets what I mean and laughs aloud.

'So, the uptight goody-two-shoes Jew likes a little of the rough stuff, huh?'

I nod a little too enthusiastically. 'I love the rough stuff.'

Understatement of the century. Laughing again, Cartman strokes his fingers through my hair as he grinds himself against me firmly.

'How much do you love it?'

I smirk. 'Dish it out and I'll let you know how it tastes.'

I can't remember the last time I'd seen Cartman look so pleased.

'Well then, if you insist...'

I wince as Cartman grabs a handful of my hair and yanks my face to his roughly. He kisses me hard enough to draw the breath from my lungs, biting down on my lip until a familiar coppery taste fills my mouth. He gives my shaft a few hard strokes and then slides his hand underneath me to grip my ass, firmly pulling me closer to him. I shudder and moan under his assault, cupping the back of his head in my hands to increase the pressure of the kiss and bucking my hips into his. Now this is more like it!

Without warning, Cartman breaks the kiss and jumps to his feet. He grabs me by the arm and drags me from the couch, releasing me so that I fall into a heap on the floor. I yelp slightly when the skin of my knees tears away as they scrape against the carpet. Cartman kneels down beside me as blood starts to drip down my shins. He eyes my wounds hungrily, and leans forward to lap at the blood with long leisurely slurps of his tongue. My tender skin stings as he works, and sends delightful little waves of pleasure coursing through my body. I swallow a mouthful of blood from where Cartman's feverish kisses broke my lip open, moaning in the knowledge that Cartman and I are both enjoying the same sweet metallic taste in our mouths.

When he is finished licking, Cartman glances down between my legs and smiles, no doubt fully able to see the affects his ministrations have had on me. Satisfied with his work, he gets to his feet. I look up into his face and he stares down at me, smirking in his usual sadistic manner as he nods towards the staircase.

'Upstairs, Kyle.'

* * * * *

_Oh, I do love Slutty Kyle and Reluctant Cartman! Actually, I'd imagine I'm probably gonna have a few negative comments about the characterisation of these two here, but please note that there's reasons for everything I'm doing, so please humour me for now. If anyone has any questions/would like to discuss my characterisation with me in detail, please do PM me. I love a good KyleXCartman related chat! _

_I'm going to have to hoist up the rating of this story from here on out, methinks. Just to pre-warn you – if any of the stuff in this chapter made you squirm (in a bad way), then you're best off giving chapter 6 a miss and waiting for chapter 7, 'cause there's lots more filth to come. Thanks for reading! Please spare a moment to review._

_DD_

_Xx_


	6. Analogy

_Author Notes: Thank you so much, readers! I got so many reviews for the last chapter that I really hope this one doesn't disappoint. I was told not to hold back in this chapter, and I haven't. This is the first time I've wrote anything this explicit, so I hope I've pulled it off. Let me know, and enjoy!_

**Chapter 6 - Analogy**

I don't know how, but we manage to make it to Cartman's room. I would have been quite happy to do it on the couch, on the stairs, in the hallway, and all the other places we stopped to make out along the way. If Cartman is trying to tease me, it's definitely fucking working. I'm so hard, it physically hurts.

He currently has me sandwiched between his bedroom door and his body, kissing me hard and sucking the last of the blood from the wound on my lip. His palms are pressed against the door either side of my head, trapping me in place. I'm currently busy trying to undo his pyjama shirt. I've been trying to do this every time he's held still long enough for me to get at the buttons, but he keeps pushing my hands away. It's so fucking frustrating, but I think that's the idea.

Cartman breaks the kiss and pulls away from me. Although it's pretty dark, I can still make out the hungry feral smile on his face. He opens the bedroom door and pushes me inside. Moonlight pours in through the window, illuminating the room with a ghostly blue glow. Before I can even locate where the bed is, I find myself pinned to it on my back. Cartman grips my wrists tightly as he holds me down and stares into my eyes. In the moonlight, I can see his face clearly for the first time since our game begin – I feel like I'm being sized up by some wild animal ready to tear me apart. He briefly brings his face forward and chastely brushes his lips against mine before getting down to business.

'Alright, Jew. If I'm gonna make you mine, there's some ground rules to adhere to. In this bedroom, you will refer to me as Master. And I shall refer to you as whatever I fucking please. We clear?'

'Crystal clear.'

'I'm sorry? Crystal clear, what?'

'Crystal clear...Master.'

I'm shaking with desire as these words pass through my lips. Cartman seems to notice this and smiles his approval before stroking my hair again.

'Now I am a tough but fair master, so good behaviour shall be rewarded. On the other hand, bad behaviour will be severely punished. Understood?'

He sounds like a real dictator – I guess something good has come from all those years of him studying and worshipping Hitler. I nod in agreement.

'Yes Master.'

'One more thing – we need a safe word. So if things are getting too much for you, just say 'ecosystem' and we'll stop.'

I frown. 'Ecosystem? Why ecosystem? ...Master?' I hastily add.

Irritated, Cartman rolls his eyes and sighs. 'Because it's a horrible word and will kill the mood for me instantly if you say it! So don't, unless absolutely necessary. Got it?'

He doesn't give me a chance to reply this time, locking lips with me once again. He kisses like he argues, so forceful and passionate. His lips feel slightly chapped, but I think mine are too so it doesn't really make a difference. He pulls back to look at me again, fingering the t-shirt I'm wearing thoughtfully.

'You look so fucking sexy wearing my shirt, Kyle.'

Did Cartman just pay me a compliment? That was weird. But then again, what about tonight hasn't been weird?

'Thank you, Master.'

Cartman kisses me again and pushes himself up to sit astride my hips.

'But I think you'll look better with it off.'

I hear a familiar clicking sound and see the moonlight glinting off a shiny metal surface. Cartman brandishes his favourite flick knife in front of my face, his eyes locked on me as he checks for my reaction. I quickly assess the situation - I'm a helpless horny little Jew trapped underneath an anti-Semitic, knife-wielding psychopath by the name of Eric Cartman. If I wasn't so turned on, I'd probably piss myself. Have I made a really stupid mistake here?

He trails the back of the knife over my chin and passed my Adam's apple to the neck hole of the t-shirt. I don't even dare to breathe as he makes an incision in the t-shirt and slowly drags the blade down over my chest, tearing through the blue material. My heart speeds up –the idea that Cartman could possibly give me quite a nasty cut or worse is scary, but at the same time oh-so thrilling. I hear Cartman chuckle as he gages my reaction.

'You see, Kyle. You can trust me. I'll never hurt you...'

He reaches the hem of the t-shirt without causing me any injury.

'...unless you want me to.'

Cartman removes the destroyed t-shirt from my body and sits back to observe his handiwork. I slowly realise that I'm completely naked and aroused. I would feel embarrassed, but judging by Cartman's face, he likes what he sees.

'I knew you'd look better this way,' he gushes. 'I never thought that my annoying little ginger Jew would be so fucking sexy behind his faggy clothes and constant bitching. So fucking perfect...my perfect little cock-slave.'

I watch as Cartman finally slides his pyjama shirt off and slings it to one side. His shoulders are so fucking incredible. I lick my dry lips and moan softly as I imagine my fingernails digging into those broad manly shoulders as Cartman fucks me through his mattress. He hears my moans and raises a curious eyebrow.

'You like what you see, my little slut? I bet you do. I'll show you more if you're willing to make it worth my while.'

I nodded breathlessly. 'Of course, Master.'

Grinning, Cartman gets up and pulls me into a kneeling position on the edge of the bed as he moves. He stands in front of me and gestures to his pyjama trousers. I gingerly reach out and tug the silken material down to the floor. He has no underwear and a pretty hot cock – it's not as long as mine is, but it's still a good length and quite thick.

'All the better to fuck you with, huh?'

My face flushes at this – it's almost like he read my mind there.

'Well, now that I've allowed you to check out my hot masculine bod, it's time for you to show me your gratitude.'

I cringe slightly - I think I know where this is going. Cartman cups my chin and lifts my face to meet his. His eyes are practically glittering with anticipation.

'Suck my balls, slave.'

How predictable! Who the fuck couldn't have seen that one coming a mile off? Leprechauns start dancing around in my head. I swore I'd never do this. I'm not even sure I know how. I mean, I've seen it done, but I never had the chance to develop my own technique. Though I guess that's what tonight is all about. Cartman must notice my apprehension, as he reaches down to gently stroke my hair.

'Don't be shy, my dear Kyle. If you suck these half as well as you sucked that rib bone, I'll be more than happy.'

I smirk shyly at that. So he was watching after all, and enjoying it apparently. My stomach tingles and my ever erect cock twitches. Screw it. I know I swore I'd never do this, but I said a lot of things when I was nine that mean fuck all now.

I carefully take Cartman's package into my hands and fondle him curiously. I've never touched another guy like this before, but I've thought about doing it a lot. Especially to Cartman. In the back of my mind, I can hear a nine year old version of myself having the biggest temper tantrum in history. I snigger, and just as Cartman opens his mouth to query this, I take one of his balls in between my lips and transform his question into a low growl of satisfaction.

I suckle gently at first, then harder when I decide I'm quite happy with the clean taste of Cartman's freshly showered skin. I make sure I give his other nut equal attention, then take them both into my mouth so I can experiment. As I'm sucking, I swirl the tip of my tongue against his balls and very gently graze my teeth against his skin. I can hear Cartman making happy sounds in the back of his throat, throwing his head back in pleasure.

'So much for never sucking my balls, Jew,' he sneers. 'You just love having a mouthful of my nuts, don't you bitch?'

I actually do. I love the feeling of his soft skin on the tip of my tongue, hearing him groan because he's so satisfied and listening to him talk dirty to me like that. When I get bored with ballsucking, I switch to his cock, taking him deep into the back of my throat and moaning loudly so that the vibrations of my vocal chords can tantalise him further. I've seen this in porn a couple of times and I'm really pleased to see that it works – Cartman's fingers thread themselves into my hair and squeeze tightly as he hisses in ecstasy.

'You're such a good ballsucking little Jew, Kyle. So good that I'm going to reward you. Your reward is you can choose whether you spit or swallow.'

What a choice. I'm not sure if I want Cartman's cum in my mouth at all. At least not just yet. I haven't even tasted my own before. I think back through all the dirty movies I've watched and suddenly hit a brainwave. I let Cartman's still erect cock slide from my lips and start jerking him off as I lock eyes with him and smile sweetly.

'Actually Master, if it so pleases you, I'd much rather finish you off with my hand and have you cum all over my face.'

I'm trying desperately hard not to laugh as Cartman suddenly gets this look on his face like he's been given a really complicated math problem to solve.

'Jesus Christ! I mean, er...'

His next words dissolve into a loud moan as I speed up my wrist action. Cartman cries out as he comes, his hot seed splashing out across my cheek, nose and chin as planned. Curiosity gets the better of me and I flick my tongue out to sample the small amount that landed close to my lip. It kinda salty - not particularly pleasant but not unpleasant either.

I suddenly feel something brushing against my face. I look up to see Cartman kneeling beside me. He reaches out his hand and gently wipes his cum from my cheek. He's got the biggest smile on his face as he leans into kiss me again. Cartman's kissed me a lot tonight. There's never this much kissing in the porn I watch. I'm not sure why, as it seems to heighten the sexual experience. Cartman's lips and tongue feel so good against mine that I get this weird feeling of disappointment whenever we pull away from each other.

'Good little Jew, what an excellent answer you gave. And as a reward for your initiative, I'm going to return the favour.'

Cartman helps me to move so that I'm sitting on the edge of the bed and then pushes me onto my back again. Starting at my neck, he kisses his way down my torso, along my hip and down my leg to just above my knee. They're like little bolts of static electricity, charging my body with undeniable warmth as I lay back and enjoy the attention I'm getting.

Cartman hesitates for a second before planting a kiss on the inside of my thigh. As he pulls his face back, I feel something sharp and cold against the spot that was just kissed. Cartman flicks his wrist and I cry out as I feel a small stinging pain like the knick of a razor blade. I glance down to see Cartman licking at the wound he has just inflicted upon me with his flick knife. He kisses another spot higher up on my thigh and repeats the process, gashing the area he'd just kissed and then licking the wound affectionately. This 'kiss, cut and lick' cycle is like a triple threat of bliss, and a testament to how creative I know Cartman can be when he puts his mind to it.

He continues until he reaches the very top of my thigh, where he discards his knife (much to my relief) and turns his attention to my aching cock. I notice his technique is quite different from mine, running his tongue up and down the length of the shaft and suckling on the tip rather than going for the whole thing like I did.

What the fuck am I discussing technique for? I should be laying back and enjoying this!

I moan as Cartman takes me further into his mouth, fondling my balls as he sucks me harder. This feels really good, but I think I actually prefer giving head to receiving it. I was just enjoying it so much more when I was hearing Cartman's satisfied groans ringing in my ears. I guess I like knowing my partner is enjoying himself. Go figure.

It doesn't take Cartman long to drive me to the edge, since I've been sitting with a constant boner for most of the night now.

'Cartman, I'm gonna come! Ah! Cartman!'

He doesn't pull away and I release into his mouth. When he's sure I've been sucked dry, Cartman slowly pulls himself up from where he was kneeling on the floor. He leans over me and smiles gleefully, capturing my lips with his once more. But as my lips part welcomingly, I suddenly become aware of the fact that Cartman hasn't disposed of my load yet.

I try to protest, but my cries are literally drowned out as a wave of my own seed floods my mouth. Cartman makes it clear that he's not going to move until I've swallowed by locking my lips firmly shut with his own. I reluctantly oblige, not overly keen on the idea of suffocating on my own cum. I notice that it tastes like his, only slightly sweeter. Satisfied that I've done his bidding, Cartman pulls back to look at me, smirking like a madman. I gasp for air, licking at the side of my mouth where a trickle of cum tried to escape from. I must look so pissed off, and he's loving it.

'Did you enjoy that, slave? You tasted so good, I just had to share it.'

'You could have fucking warned me!'

Seriously, I'm all for this S&M thing, but that was fucking gross! Cartman tilts his head to one side, giving me a look of mock horror.

'What's that, slave? Is that any way to speak to your master?'

I cringe at myself for breaking character, but I can't believe he's actually scolding me for getting pissed off at him for doing that.

'Sorry, Master!'

My reply is sarcastic and said through gritted teeth. No way am I genuinely apologising to someone who just fed my own cum back to me! Cartman's eyes narrow slightly.

'I don't think I like your tone, slave. I think a little punishment is in order.'

His voice is low, dangerous and full of promise, and I'm instantly back to being turned on. Cartman moves to sit beside me on the edge of the bed, and pulls me up onto him so that my body is dangling over his lap. One of his hands grips onto my hair while the other delicately caresses my ass. Cartman makes contemplative sounds as he touches me.

'I believe you called me Cartman as you came. Twice. And then you cussed at me. What a naughty little slave you are, Kyle.'

His hand abruptly leaves my ass, and returns to it full force. The cry I let out mingles with the sound of flesh impacting against flesh, and the sting of the violent blow to my ass sends a shockwave of bliss through my body.

'I think you're in need of a fucking good spanking, Kyle,' Cartman growls. 'Wouldn't you agree?'

'Yes, Master,' I pant. 'Please punish me.'

'How naughty have you been, slave?'

I can hear the smirk in Cartman's voice. 'Extremely naughty, Master,' I reply.

'Hmm, in that case I'll have to punish you good and hard.'

I feel Cartman lean to the side as he reaches for something with his spanking hand. His other hand is still in my hair and alternates between tugging and stroking my red locks. Seconds later, more painful pleasure rips through my body as the crack of leather on skin echoes around the room. I hear Cartman experimenting with cracking the belt strap like a whip before continuing my punishment. With every blow that hits my skin, my cock gets a little harder and I groan a little louder. After a dozen or so blows, Cartman pauses to give my ass a quick rub.

'I think you're enjoying this a little too much, slave. Time to step things up a notch, I think.'

The soft slapping leather is replaced by a blow of hard cold metal, and I yelp as my body tries to adjust to this new agony. Another one comes and I feel the sharp points of the belt buckle piercing my skin. Tears sting the surface of my eyes and I'm practically screaming as each impact comes. Yet I'm still enjoying this so much, and somehow I'm proud of the fact that I'm going to have a lot of bruises to show for this whole experience tomorrow.

After a few more blows, Cartman stops and tosses the belt to one side. After we both take a few seconds to get our breath back, Cartman lifts me back up and sits me in his lap. I can feel his hard cock pressed against my battered ass, and I lean into him so that my back is pressed against his chest. He responds by wrapping his arms around me, his fingers stroking my skin in an almost affectionate way. I feel his warm breath on my ear.

'Have you learned your lesson yet, slave?'

I nodded wordlessly as he kisses my ear lightly.

'Of course you have. Perhaps I was a little hard on you. Just look at what I've done to your beautiful little ass.'

With great ease, he flips me over so that I'm on the bed on my hands and knees. He gets on the bed and kneels behind me, caressing my ass tenderly. I feel him kiss one of the more painful areas and my cock trembles.

'Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?'

I know exactly what I want him to do, and I'm no longer afraid to ask for it.

'You can fuck me until I bleed, Master.'

There's a moment of silence, as Cartman's fingers leisurely trail over the little cuts on my thighs.

'Say that again.'

I can tell by the sound of his voice that he's absolutely delighted by this situation. That makes two of us.

'I want you to fuck me until I bleed, Master.'

'Beg me for it,' he hisses.

'Please fuck me, Master! I'm begging you to fuck me until I bleed!'

Cartman chuckles at my trill pleading cries.

'Certainly.'

Without warning, Cartman parts the cheeks of my ass with his hands and I feel something wet pressing against my opening. At first I think he's grabbed some lube without me noticing, but then I realise that he's actually probing me with his tongue. As the damp muscle writhes around inside me, Cartman roughly squeezes my bruised ass. The unique mixture of pleasure and pain is so exhilarating and intense that I could quite happily blow my load right now. I hang in there though, my breathing rapid and shallow as Cartman invades my most personal area with his mouth.

After a moment, he pulls back and I let out an involuntary moan of disappointment. I hear Cartman chuckle, and then the sound of him spitting. I assume he's preparing himself.

'Get ready to bleed, my slave.'

He seizes my hips tightly and presses the head of his cock against my entrance. He hesitates a moment before plunging himself into my tightness. I cry out in pain at the unfamiliar feeling of being totally invaded, and try to relax the tension in my body as Cartman slowly thrusts in and out of me. Once my pained cries begin melting into those of passion, Cartman starts to build up speed, groaning loudly as my tight internal muscles clamp down on his cock.

'Thank god you're such a tight assed Jew, Kyle!' he yells. 'My fucking god!'

'Aah! Fuck! Harder, Master!' I scream in reply.

Cartman complies, fucking me for all he's worth. His fingernails dig into my hips, and mine in turn claw at the bed sheets. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut as I start to rock back against Cartman's thrusts, matching his rhythm perfectly. We both moan and grunt incoherently for what feels like a lifetime until finally I see spots and hit a screaming orgasm. Seconds later, Cartman explodes inside me with a long primitive groan. He holds me in place for a moment longer before pulling out, allowing us both to collapse onto the bed, exhausted.

For a long time, we just lay there side by side panting loudly, staring up at the ceiling. I can't believe Cartman and I just did that, but I'm so fucking glad that we did, because it was the most amazing thing I've ever experienced. I decide to break the silence.

'Wow...'

I can see Cartman nod in agreement out of the corner of my eye. 'Yeah...that was even more fun than arguing with you.'

We both snigger at that. Cartman rolls onto his side and strokes his fingers through my hair. He's been touching my hair a lot tonight. I guess it feels good to touch or something. I turn my head to face him. As our eyes meet, he flashes me a Cheshire cat smile.

'I really like this side of you, Kyle.'

I grin back at him. 'I'm glad I please you so, Master.'

Cartman rolls his eyes and waves his hand dismissively. 'Ecosystem. You can call me whatever you want now.'

'In that case, I'm glad I please you so...fatass.'

'Hey!'

I turn on my side to face him, frowning. 'You're lucky that's all I'm calling you after that 'return to sender' stunt you pulled!'

'Hey, you could have said the safe word at any time.'

'Not with a mouthful of spooge, I couldn't!'

'There's nothing wrong with a little snowballing, you uptight fucking Jew.'

'You still think I'm uptight after all that?'

'Nah. In fact, I think you're a total slut. And I'm never going to let you live down the fact that you made the first move.'

'I'm not a slut! And like hell I did, fatass! You're the one that got me drunk and started talking about cherry popping!'

'You were the one running around my house without any panties on, Jew! You were just asking for it. I've always suspected that you longed for my hot body, you kinky fucking sex freak.'

'I am not a sex freak!'

'Yeah, just really fucking kinky.'

'Fuck you!'

'You just did.'

I let out a sound of exasperation and roll onto my other side so I'm facing away from him. In a way though, I'm glad that things have just gone straight back to normal. I mean, I always thought that sleeping with your friends made things uncomfortable. It's probably just because Cartman and I aren't really 'friends' technically. I mean, I guess we're close in a way, and we know a shitload about each other from hanging around together for so many years. But we've both agreed on numerous occasions that the phrase 'friendship' simply does not apply to our relationship.

After a few seconds of silence, I hear Cartman shifting behind me. Much to my surprise, his arm snakes around my waist and he pulls me to him so my back presses against his chest. I have to hold myself back from sniggering - I never would have imagined that Cartman would be the type to want to cuddle afterwards.

'Kyle?'

'Yeah?'

'Sorry for busting your dumb Jew nose the other day.'

What the fuck? Has Satan been forgetting to pay his heating bill or something, because Hell has officially frozen over! I burst out laughing and turn over in Cartman's arms to face him. He has this look on his face like he's just had to give his last bag of Cheesy Poofs to charity. He really hates apologising. It must be the alcohol talking.

'Don't you dare say the 'S' word to me, Eric Cartman.'

We laugh together as I mock his tone from earlier in the evening. Our eyes lock for a moment. I suddenly feel choked up and my face starts turning red. Woah - where the hell did that come from? I guess the guy **did** just stick his tongue up my ass – of course I'm gonna get embarrassed when I look at him. I nuzzle my face into Cartman's chest so that he doesn't notice how flustered I'm getting. The arm around me suddenly tightens and I swear to Moses that Cartman actually sniffs my hair. I guess he just **really** likes my hair. In fairness, I do use a very nice smelling shampoo, and there's every possibility that I could have been imagining him doing it. I clear my throat to break any tension.

'What time is it?'

I feel Cartman's head turn towards his nightstand where his alarm clock is situated.

'A little after two. Think we should get some sleep.'

I consider this for a second. Very soon, morning will come and this night will be nothing but a memory for both of us. Sleep isn't very appealing to me right now. I don't voice my opinion – I simply slide my hand down Cartman's front to his cock. When I reach my goal, I feel something rubbery – I didn't notice Cartman putting a condom on, but I guess he did. Again, that was strangely considerate of him, but I choose not to question it. Instead, I quickly remove the condom, tie it up and expel it from the bed before returning to Cartman's now semi-erect member. I sense him turn his face towards me, and I meet his questioning gaze with a smirk.

'What's the matter? Never pulled an all-nighter before?'

Grinning, he lifts me on top of him and I grind my crotch into his as we both start to grow hard again. Cartman sighs contentedly.

'After all that, you're still not satisfied? Horny freak.'

I laugh lightly. 'We might as well make the most of it. It's not as if we do this every day.'

'True. Though I wouldn't mind it one bit if we did.'

We both smile and lean in for a kiss. I don't think I've ever felt so happy to be in agreement with Cartman. And even though the word 'friendship' may not be best used to describe our relationship, I'm hoping that maybe the term 'fuck buddies' can become the perfect analogy.

* * * * *

_Well, I hope you enjoyed reading that as much as I enjoyed writing it! The story does not end here, so stay tuned as the next chapter will be heading your way shortly. Reviews/comments are welcomed, as usual. Thanks for reading!_

_DD_

_xx_

_PS: Did anyone get the 'ecosystem' reference? If not, go to Youtube and search 'Eric Cartman Interview'. Absolutely hilarious!_


	7. Calling

_Author Notes: I'm so glad that people seemed to like the last chapter. It was my favourite one to write so far, so thanks for all your comments and adds to stuff. This new chapter was a bit of a pain in the ass to write for one reason or another, but the next one should be better. Enjoy!_

**Chapter 7 - Calling**

I can't believe I'm naked in Eric Cartman's bed at 6:30am on a Sunday morning after a night of passionate sex

I think we ended up falling asleep a little after three thirty due to a combination of alcohol and general exhaustion from playing dirty little games for hours. Part of me thought that come this morning I'd be regretting last night, but I'm not. Why would I - my fantasies came to life, and it was awesome just like we knew it would be. My body feels so warm today, if not just a little sore, and my mind feels totally clear. I think last night was exactly what we both needed.

I turn my face to look at Cartman. He's still fast asleep. There are so many unanswered questions I have when it comes to this guy. For example, has he wanted to do this for a while like me, or was it totally a spur of the moment thing for him? Last night he seemed so happy with what we were doing, but how is feeling now that the moment is over? I wish I could ask him, but knowing Cartman, he probably wouldn't tell me anyway. I decide not to wake him, as he's not exactly a morning person. He's not really an afternoon or night person either, but I know he hates being woken up.

I slowly lift the covers and slide out from under them. I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out when I realise how sore I actually am as I stand up, and I limp slightly as I make my way across Cartman's room. I silently scurry out of the door and down the hallway to the bathroom. I quickly wash my face to get rid of any telltale residue, and just as quickly pull my shirt on. My ass and thighs protest painfully as I slide into my jeans. Note to self - wearing hip huggers the day after a night of vigorous butt sex is not a clever thing to do.

Once I'm dressed, I creep along the hallway to the top of the stairs. Just as I begin to descend them, I pause. Maybe I should leave a note or something. I retreat back up the stairs to Cartman's room. I go to his desk and quickly scribble on a scrap of paper.

'Went home early, didn't want to wake you.

See you at school.

K

PS: No regrets'

I hesitate for a long time before adding the post script, but I figure at least I'm being honest. I hear movement behind me and turn around. It was Cartman - he still asleep, just shifting around a little. I tilt my head and smile as I look at him - he looks so peaceful and innocent when he's sleeping. I nearly laugh out loud at the absurdity of this thought. Eric Cartman, peaceful and innocent? I think not.

I cross the room to the bed and place the note on the nightstand. I hear Cartman sigh contentedly as he snuggles into his pillow and I find my smile growing wider. Before I can think about what I'm doing, I lean down and kiss his forehead lightly. I'm not sure why I did that. I guess it just seemed like an appropriate thing to do. And I got to indulge in a lungful of his Cartman smell again. His usual scent has been enhanced by the smell of sex and sweat. So much for innocence.

The walk home is agonising, as every step I take causes my jeans to rub against my bruised and lacerated skin. I'm still smiling though, because at the same time every step I take reminds me of last night and how incredible it was. I feel like there's an area of my brain that's trying to pick fault with this situation and tell me I'm crazy for being so happy that I lost my virginity to my worst enemy. But somehow, that area of my brain has been stifled. And somehow, this whole crazy situation makes perfect sense to me, almost like it was meant to happen to an extent. I'm more curious about how Cartman feels though.

When I get home, my family is already up and about. Ike doesn't even acknowledge me as I come in the front door, being too busy eating cereal and watching hockey on the television to spare me even a glance. That's fine – we're brothers. We're not supposed to be courteous to each other.

'Morning, Ike.'

He doesn't respond, totally hypnotised by the television. I flop down on the couch beside him.

'I thought you Canadians were supposed to be polite?'

'Bite me, homo.'

'Ike Broflovski, watch your language!'

My mom's grating voice echoes through the house as comes out of the kitchen in her dressing gown. She hands me the syringe of insulin she has made up for me and I smile a thank you. She acknowledges this with a nod.

'Good morning, bubbeleh. Did you have fun at Eric's last night?'

I blush, not only because of the question but because of the fact that Mom still calls me that stupid pet name. I quickly swab my arm with alcohol and inject the insulin into myself.

'Er, we really just kinda slept.'

My mum takes the used syringe from me and returns to the kitchen without saying a word. I'm not sure why she even bothered asking me about staying at Cartman's, as I doubt she cares about the answer. She's not exactly Cartman's biggest fan and has always said she'd prefer it if I didn't hang out with him. Apparently he's a bad influence on me. After last night, I'd be inclined to agree.

Ike sniggers. 'What's wrong? Didn't your man give you any last night?'

I sigh. You gotta love little brothers. Ike has a pretty good idea that I'm gay, since the little shit once used my computer and I hadn't been smart enough to delete my Internet history first. But he's been cool enough not to mention it to Mom and Dad, just so long as I let him use my computer whenever he wants, among countless other little favours. He and Cartman would get along so well. They're both master manipulators, they both claim to hate me and they both love to piss me off.

'I bet you at least sucked his cock.'

He thinks he's so fucking funny. I roll my eyes.

'Yes Ike, I did. I sucked his cock. In fact, I sucked it until the sun came up.'

'Thought you might have done.'

Not unlike his big brother, Ike is a fan of sarcasm. We laugh together, though I'm mostly laughing at how Ike would react if he knew that what I'd just said was true. Baring that in mind, I rise from the couch and head towards the stairs.

'I'm gonna go take a shower.' I declare.

'To wash away the sin?'

'Ike, shut the fuck up.'

'Language!' Mom yells from the kitchen.

As I enter my bedroom, I find a pile of books on my desk. I recognise them from my dad's study. My parents really want me to be a lawyer, even though I've never shown an iota of interest in pursuing such a career. Apparently, Broflovski men have always been lawyers, and therefore I'm expected to follow suit. Fuck that. It's my brain, and I'll use it how I see fit. I make a disgusted sound as I push the books into a corner and grab my towel.

On my way down the hallway, I glance into my dad's study. He's working. On a Sunday, for crying out loud! He was working yesterday too. Why the hell would I want to do a job that involves working every day of the week? Sure, I believe in hard work, but I also believe in taking time out to relax and enjoy life. That said, if I was married to Mom, I'd probably wanna work all the time too just to keep out of her way. Don't get me wrong, I love my mom. I'd just never want to marry anyone like her.

The water from the shower feels extra good on my body this morning. I think I'm still sensitive from all the stimulation it's had recently. The cuts on the inside of my thighs sting as the warm water flows over them. My mind wanders back to Cartman again. I wonder whether he's woken up and found my note yet. I wonder if I'll hear from him today...

As soon as I'm finished my shower, I slip into some loose fitting clothes and pull my homework out of my backpack. I settle on the bed with my chemistry book as there's no room on the desk thanks to those fucking law books and I simply can't be bothered to move them. I try to concentrate but visions of last night keep flashing before my eyes. Cartman...kissing me...spanking me...fucking me...

My heart begins to race. I'm starting to feel turned on again. Maybe I just need to allow my body to relax before I can focus my mind on homework. Putting the textbook to one side, I lay back and close my eyes for a moment. I wish I could understand what has happened in my head. I feel like Cartman's touch, his words, his scent are all haunting me. When everything is said and done, he's still Eric Cartman, asshole extraordinaire who hates my guts – he's just really good in bed, is all. Then why can't I get him out of my head after one night of passion? Maybe I'm becoming one of those sex addicts. I'll have to do some more research online...

I suddenly feel something land on me. I sit up and find my green beret on my chest. Stan is standing by my bed in a suit. He must have just been to church. There's a moment of silence and I can feel a little tension in the air. Goddamn it – there's nothing worse than feeling awkward around your best friend, especially when that awkwardness has been caused by you being a dumbass. With a sigh, Stan folds his arms and sits on the bed beside me, nodding at the beret.

'You left your hat at the party. Thought you might want it back.'

I smile. 'Thanks, dude.'

He smiles back. 'Hung over?'

'Not really.'

Much to my surprise, I haven't had so much as a headache this morning. I guess I must have burnt off all the alcohol with all the exercise I got. Stan suddenly bursts out laughing, though I can't comprehend why. I still haven't really seen the funny side of me molesting my best friend in front of all of our friends yet.

'You totally made an ass out of yourself last night, dude!'

I cringe. 'I know. I can't believe that I...I'm so sorry.'

'It's fine. Everyone does something dumb once in a while. It's not like anything major came out of it.'

Yeah, I just got my little Jew cherry popped by the resident Nazi. No biggie. I change the subject before I start to blush.

'So err, did anyone else do something dumb last night?'

Stan shrugged. 'Not really. Kenny got slapped by Bebe a few times, but the biggest news was you getting smashed and smooching me.'

'Great.'

Stan laughs at my sarcastic reply, and this time I join him. I guess it is kinda funny when I think about it. It's certainly not the worst thing I could have done, and it's not like Stan seems to care, so it's all good!

'Was Wendy okay about it?'

'She was a bit annoyed at first, but then after a few more beers she decided that it was actually kinda hot.'

My eyebrow quirks at that. 'She thinks seeing another guy kiss her boyfriend is hot? Freak.'

'Tell me about it! But I guess I'm lucky in a way. If it had been another girl, I doubt I'd still have my balls right now.'

Stan removes his jacket and tie, and tosses them onto the floor at the foot of my bed. I shift along slightly so that he can make himself comfortable next to me. We both lay side by side, staring up at the ceiling. This is one of my favourite things to do with Stan; we've done it since we were little kids. It great, just relaxing on a bed and sharing secrets. In fact I think the last time that we did this, I told Stan I was gay.

'So how come you ended up staying at Cartman's place last night?'

I freeze, speechless. So much for relaxing. How the fuck did Stan find out? I'm gonna have to work hard to keep my cool here, as this is one secret I'm not willing to share just yet.

'H-how'd you know about that?'

'Your mom let me in the house just now and asked me if I had stayed over at Cartman's last night too. You actually stayed there with him alone all night and got out alive?'

Shit. I hate having to lie to Stan, but I'm going to have to. I can think of about a dozen reasons to justify this decision, the definitive one being if I told him the truth, he'd probably do his over-protective best friend thing and put Cartman in the hospital. I don't want that to happen.

'Yeah, erm...he just asked me in for coffee and I ended up falling asleep on his couch.'

'He asked you in for coffee? That was...weird of him.'

'I thought so too. I think he just wanted the extra time to rip on me for being wasted.'

'He didn't do anything to you, did he?'

My eyes widen as my filthy brain goes into overdrive again. I wish I didn't have such a fucking dirty mind sometimes.

'Nah, he was just his usual annoying self.'

I must have replied too slowly for his liking as Stan sits up and looks down at me in concern.

'Are you sure? You're acting a little strange.'

'Yeah dude, he just...threatened to break my legs if I told anyone he'd let me sleep at his house. You know what he's like – hates people to think he's human and all.'

Stan nods slowly, clearly not sure whether to believe me. I smile brightly and jump off the bed.

'Anyway, enough about him. Wanna play some GameSphere?'

Thankfully, Stan dropped the issue after that. We played video games and talked for a few hours and then Stan stayed for dinner. It was really great, just like the old days. Stan always spends so much time with Wendy lately that I really appreciate the rare occasions that Stan and I actually get to spend alone together. With Stan to distract me, I didn't think about what had happened last night so much. Although I did keep obsessively checking my cell phone to see if Cartman had been in touch. He hadn't, but I wasn't too worried. He was probably still sleeping or something.

After dinner, Stan and I played basketball until about five in the afternoon, at which time Stan announced that he would have to leave as he was meeting Wendy at six. This suited me fine as I still hadn't finished my homework, so we said our goodbyes and I returned to my room. I glared at the pile of law books before stashing them in the closet, then sat down at the desk and opened my science textbook.

Before I began reading, I checked my phone one more time. I don't know what I was expecting Cartman to say when he did contact me. He said that he wouldn't mind us screwing around like that every day, but did he even mean what he said? And even if he did, as appealing as it sounds, is it really such a good idea? I mean, if the sex is that wonderful, does it really matter that it's with Cartman? I can't decide. I wonder what he thinks. I really need to talk to him about it.

I'd only been working for about ten minutes when my cell phone beeps. I feel my heart do something peculiar when I realise it's a text message from Cartman.

'U 4GOT UR BOXERS JOO - EC'

I sigh, irritated. One of my pet hates is when people write text messages this way. I don't care what anyone says - it's not quicker to write texts like that, and it's certainly not quicker to read texts like that. What's the problem with using normal words? Regardless, Cartman had contacted me and it makes me feel strangely excited. I quickly think up a cheeky comeback and send it.

'I KNOW. THINK OF IT AS SOMETHING TO REMEMBER ME BY - KB'

I toss my chemistry book to one side and focus my attention on my cell phone. I can't wait to see his reply to that. It takes him about four minutes, but a reply finally comes through.

'SURE. LAST NITE WAZ KEWL – EC'

I smile – cool? More like really fucking hot. I think for a moment and send my response.

'YEAH, YOU SHOULD RESCUE ME FROM MY MOM MORE OFTEN – KB'

I place my phone on the desk and lean back in my chair. Last night really was awesome. I've never felt like that before. I just can't believe that it was Cartman making me feel those things. Like when he spanked me, and when he stuck his tongue inside me...

I feel myself insides tingle and my body temperature starts to rise. Looking around to check that my door is closed, I slowly slide my hand into my sweatpants and start to stroke my hardening cock. I jump when I hear ringing and stare at my phone guiltily - another text from Cartman.

'WAT R U DOIN RITE NOW? - EC'

I smile as I draft up my response. I read over what I've wrote and hesitate for a moment before sending it. I figure I might as well give an honest answer.

'REPLAYING LAST NIGHT IN MY HEAD AND TOUCHING MYSELF. WHAT ELSE? – KB'

No sooner have I pressed the send button, my phone starts ringing as a call comes through. It's Cartman. Grinning, I press the answer button and hold the phone to my ear, not saying a word. There's silence for a second.

'Seriously?'

I laugh. 'Seriously.'

He chuckles softly. I shiver – his laughter sounds the way chocolate tastes, so smooth and deliciously naughty.

'Are you in your room?' he asks.

'Yeah.'

'On your bed?'

'No, I'm sitting at my desk.'

'Take your clothes off and get on the bed.'

I love it when he orders me around. I should really make some effort to keep him on his toes though.

'Only if you do too.'

He laughs. 'I'm already there, my dear Jew.'

I'm talking to naked Cartman. Something about that makes me feel so hot. I cross my room to the door and lock it before slipping out of my clothes. I slide onto the bed, laying back comfortably and allowing the sheets to caress my sensitive skin as I bring the phone back up to my ear.

'I'm there now too.'

'Are you hard?'

'Yeah.'

'Tell me what you're doing.'

I've never had phone sex before, so I'm not quite sure what to say.

'Erm...touching myself.'

That fucking sucked. I cringe as Cartman laughs softly. 'Wanna know what I'm doing?'

I nod even though I know he can't see it. He takes my silence as an affirmative answer and starts talking in that delectable tone of voice that makes my dick spasm.

'I'm stroking my cock. It's hard and hot in my hand. My heart is pounding and my nipples are rock hard, and all because I can't stop thinking about you. I can't stop thinking about how good your creamy skin felt to touch last night, and how beautiful the sound of you screaming my name was. I'm so turned on right now. I'm closing my eyes, imagining that it's you here touching me instead.'

Suddenly, I want Cartman here with me. I want his hands touching me and his lips kissing my skin and his hot sweet breath on my ear again. Above all else, I want to feel him inside me again. For the first time, I notice that I'm breathing heavily. I run my free hand over my chest, my fingers lightly brushing against my swollen nipples.

'Oh god...' I manage to whisper.

'If I was there, what would you want me to do to you, Kyle?'

Taking a deep breath, I think of all the things I enjoyed about last night and try to find the words to articulate them.

'I'd...want you to hold me down...gripping my wrists in your hands until it hurts. I'd want to feel your hard cock pressed against mine as you kissed me until I couldn't breathe anymore.'

Cartman is silent for a moment. I hear him moving around a little. 'What else?'

I swallow hard, licking my dry lips. 'I wanna get on my knees in front of you and take your cock to the back of my throat. I wanna suck you until you're moaning. I want to take you to heaven and back with my tongue.'

Judging by Cartman's uneven breathing, I'm getting better at this, so I continue.

'I want you to shoot your hot sticky cum into my mouth. I wanna lick your taste from my lips and savour every drop.'

'How would I taste, Kyle?'

I groan theatrically. 'Like paradise.'

Much to my delight, Cartman moans throatily. My cock is absolutely pulsating with need, so I reach down and stroke myself vigorously as I continue.

'I want to feel your hands on my skin touching me. I want your fingers inside me, stretching me out so you can fuck me into oblivion.'

'My little Jew has such good ideas.'

I can envision the animalistic smile on Cartman's face as he says this. The mental images I'm having coupled with Cartman's smooth honeyed voice continue to drive me fucking crazy as I stroke myself faster.

'Do you want to feel my cock pressed against your ass, Kyle?' Cartman hisses.

'Oh, fuck...'

'Want me to fuck you good and hard?'

'Oh my God, yes!'

'I love the feeling of being inside you. That fucking tight sexy little ass. I wanna stare into your pretty green eyes and fuck you so fucking hard.'

I whimper into the phone as I feel myself coming close to orgasm.

'I wanna dig my fingernails into your back as you fuck me and scream your name over and over again. Cartman, Oh God, Cartman...'

'Oh Jesus, Kyle!'

'Cartman...'

I hear him moan loudly as he reaches his climax first, and it doesn't take me long to follow suit. I'm gonna need another shower, but it was worth it. Cartman laughs breathlessly.

'You're pretty good at that, Jew.'

I smile. 'You too, for someone who makes out like they're an illiterate fucktard most of the time.'

To my surprise, he laughs at this insult. 'Oh, I am! I've just overheard my mom doing this lots of times.'

...Gross. 'It's kinda twisted that you've learnt something like that from your mom, dude.'

'Hey! I didn't hear you complaining five minutes ago.'

'I'm not complaining now either.'

There's silence on the line. In a strange coincidence, we both start laughing nervously at the same time. Cartman finally speaks.

'I really wish you were here right now.'

'Me too. All of this talk has got me so wound up.'

'Yeah, actions are so much better than words.'

I'm getting the impression that Cartman is implying that he wants us to play together again, but just doesn't want to ask. I guess I'll just have to take the lead.

'So, what are you doing tomorrow after school?'

There's another short silence. Cartman sniggers. 'You, hopefully.'

I laugh. 'Sounds good to me.'

'Well, get a good night's sleep then, Jew. You're gonna need the energy.'

'Same to you, fatass. Sweet dreams.'

We hang up with another word. That wasn't so hard – I've heard Stan and Wendy do this 'You hang up, no you hang up' thing and it's so fucking retarded. I guess that Stan and Wendy's relationship is a little different to mine and Cartman's though. A lot different, actually. I eye the splash of cum in the palm of my hand and close my fingers around it fondly.

Tomorrow is going to be a good day.

* * * * *

_I've never wrote a phone sex scene before. If this chapter was a little flat, you have my apologies. One of the dogs I occasionally look after died quite suddenly this morning and I wasn't really in the right frame of mind for writing. Hopefully it turned out okay._

_On a lighter note, just thought I'd mention that it looks like there's gonna be about 18 chapters to this story. So that's only 11 more for me to write. Super... LOL! If you're inspired to do so, please review. See you in chapter 8!_

_DD_

_Xx_

_PS: This chapter is dedicated to Charlie – we'll never really know what happened to you, my friend. But you'll be missed. RIP._


	8. Deal

_Author Notes: Thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter, and for your condolescences for Charlie. I really appreciate it. Chapter 8 is here! Enjoy!_

**Chapter 8 - Deal**

I usually hate Monday mornings, but I have a good feeling about this one. By the time I'm finished my shower, there's a text message waiting for me on my phone. I smile when I see it's from Cartman, but I'm a little confused about what it says:

'LOOK OUT. BLACK ICE ON SIDEWALKS 2DAY – EC'

Since when does Cartman warn me about the weather? He can be really random sometimes. He can be a lot of others things too. I guess it's just all part of his...unique brand of charm.

After a lot of thought, I decide to wear my black jeans and my gold-brown snakeskin print shirt. It might seem a little dressy just for a day at school, but I have it on good authority that my ass looks amazing in these jeans. And gold is Cartman's favourite colour.

I gradually make my way to school, having to walk at a ridiculously slow pace. Cartman was right about the ice – it's fucking dangerous out here today. There are actually a few patches of blood on the sidewalk where people have fallen! Cartman would love this. He loves any sort of slapstick comedy – watching people fall over, walk into things, that kind of stuff. It totally cracks him up. I'm surprised he's not cutting school to spend the day sitting on his front lawn with a beer, laughing his ass off as he watches passersby fuck themselves up on the ice.

I meet Stan and Kenny at the school gates as usual. Wendy is usually here too, but she has a debate team meeting this morning. Cartman and I used to be on the debate team too until Wendy successfully petitioned for us to be thrown out for our incessant arguing. Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't 'debate' just a fancy way of saying 'argue'? Cartman theorised that she was just jealous of his mass debating skills.

I would have to agree. I'd gladly mass debate with Cartman anytime...

'Hey dudes.'

Stan waves hello as Kenny practically jumps on me as I approach, grinning like a lunatic.

'Well, hey! If it isn't Captain Jack Daniels! And how are we this morning, my boozy Jewzy?'

Ah shit. I'd almost forgot that I'm supposed to be hanging my head in shame today after my short lived drunken rampage on Saturday night.

'Knock it off, Kenny,' Stan scolds gently. 'It's not like you've never publically made a dick of yourself while under the influence before.'

That shuts Kenny up. He's done more fucked up shit when drunk, high or even sober than anyone I know. I glance at my watch. It's nearly 8am. Cartman's usually here by now. Is it just me or has every single thought that's entered my head this morning somehow ended up being about Cartman? Weird. I guess I just really want to see him.

_Naked. _

Shit, I've gotta get my hormones in check! I'll just stop thinking about him for now. I'll start a conversation with the guys to take my mind off him.

'Hey, did anyone else get a text from Cartman this morning?'

So much for that bright idea. Kenny shakes his head. Stan checks his phone and gives the same response.

'No, why?'

I'm surprised by this. Cartman couldn't have only sent that text to me. What would be the point in that?

'Morning, assholes.'

My heart leaps into my throat when I hear Cartman's distinctive voice behind me.

'Hey fatass,' Stan and Kenny chorus.

I turn my head to look at him, and can't help but think that the last time we saw each other he had me held close to his chest as I gave him a long hard lingering kiss goodnight. When we lock eyes, I shiver a little and my mouth suddenly feels dry. He doesn't look fazed by seeing me, though there's definitely something in his eyes that isn't usually there. I can't really tell what it is – like a sparkle of some sort. I think it's the same sparkle I saw in my eyes this morning when I looked in the mirror.

'Hey Cartman,' I say as normally as possible.

He nods in recognition of my greeting. 'Jew. So, did anyone actually enjoy that faggy party the other night?'

As Kenny starts energetically defending the honour of said party, I sneak a few glances at Cartman. He's wearing a red jacket strikingly similar to the one that he wore when we were kids. Of course, it looks a hundred times better on him now than it did back then. The jeans he's wearing are baggy and the denim material is a lovely dark blue. Just his standard casual look – yet all I can think about is ripping those clothes from his body and running my hands over his skin. His brown hair is messy, as usual. I bet I could make it messier though...

Cartman catches me looking at him, so I quickly turn my face away and try to focus on the conversation. Craig and those guys have joined us, and are gesturing at me and laughing. I guess they're discussing my drunken escapades. Whatever. I turn my attention to the nearest wall, just a plain boring old wall...and all I want is for Cartman to throw me up against it and fuck me right now.

I need help...

Suddenly, Cartman's boisterous laughter snaps me out of my horny haze. 'Yeah, Kyle was so fucking wasted! He chucked his guts up on the walk home! It was so fucking funny!'

I frown as Cartman continues to laugh. 'Yeah, what made it extra funny was that I did it all over you, fatass. Hope you enjoyed cleaning my barf off of your precious jacket.'

There's a chorus of laughter as Cartman glares at me. 'Yeah, the bill for the dry cleaning is in the mail to you, Jew.'

'You can stick your bill up your ass! It's your fault I threw up in the first place!'

'Hey! How the hell is it my fault that you can't aim your barf at the ground? It's a well known fact that Jews have no depth perception.'

'Shut the fuck up about Jews, retard!'

'Don't call me a retard, you fucking ginger son of a bitch!'

The school bell interrupts me before I can reply. I hear Stan and Kenny sigh in relief as we turn and start walking towards the main entrance. I can practically hear the blood surging through my veins like electricity. There's nothing quite like a good debate to kick-start your day. As we head into the school building, I feel a hand brush deliberately against my ass. I turn my head to see Cartman sauntering behind me, smirking. He winks at me teasingly, and I have to smile back.

I like this game.

* * * * *

Although I'm certain it has nothing to do with the fact that I'm a Jew, I am naturally good with numbers, which is why I find calculus so fucking boring. I finished this damn quiz five minutes ago whilst all the other morons in my class are still struggling to write their own names at the head of the paper. I glance at the clock hanging above the teacher's desk - thirty five minutes left! Jesus Christ...I guess if I'm looking to kill time, I could always just think about Cartman some more.

I'm still a little turned on from our argument, but more so from him groping me so discreetly. Stan and Kenny were right beside me when he did it, but they didn't even notice. Nobody did. Everyone thinks that we hate each other, and maybe we do. But no one will ever know about the delicious benefits of that hatred. Nobody knows what goes on behind closed doors. Of everybody in the world, we're the only two people that know our dirty little secret. And this to me makes what we're doing all the more tantalizing.

Suddenly, my cell phone vibrates in my jeans pocket. It startles me, but nobody seems to notice. I discreetly dig the phone out of my pocket. It's a text message from Cartman. I think he's in Earth Science class right now, but that's irrelevant.

'UR ASS LOOKS FUKIN AWESOME IN THOSE JEANS – EC'

I cover my mouth with my hand so that nobody can see how big my smile is. I reply giving a nice honest answer as always.

'THANKS. MY SECRET IS GOING COMMANDO SO THAT THERES NO UNDERWEAR LINE TO SPOIL THE LOOK - KB'

I wish I could see Cartman when he gets that message through. The horrified expression on his face is priceless whenever I flirt with him, like he just doesn't expect such behaviour from the uptight goody-goody Jew. My phone vibrates again.

'BOYZ 3RD FLR BATHROOM. NOW! – EC'

I manage to stifle a laugh. Looks like I'm not the only kinky sex freak around here. As much as it kills me, I wait a good ten minutes before picking up my completed quiz and walking to the front of the classroom.

'Ms Copeland? I've finished my paper. Could I possibly go to the library and read?'

Ms Copeland beams at me. 'Certainly, Kyle dear.'

Being a teacher's pet kicks ass. I smile sweetly and walk briskly out of the classroom. As the door closes behind me, my smile becomes devilish. I take my sweet time as I leisurely climb the stairs to the third floor. Cartman should be nicely worked up by the time I get to him.

I enter the bathroom to the smell of pine freshener and bleach. All I can hear is a faucet dripping and all I can see are three empty stalls. Where the hell is he?

Just as I start to pace the floor of the bathroom, I'm yanked into the end stall from behind. The door slams shut behind me and before I see his face, Cartman's lips are on mine. His hands are in my hair and his lower half grinds against mine as he pins me to the wall. I groan appreciatively into his mouth as my hands slide over his shoulders, down his torso and under his shirt.

Our tongues battle ferociously as we kiss harder and more enthusiastically, and I can feel our cocks hardening even through the material of our jeans. Cartman breaks the kiss abruptly, grabbing my wrists in his hands and slamming me back against the bathroom wall. Panting heavily, we stare at each other for a moment before Cartman speaks.

'You're late. Fucking little cock tease.'

I grin. 'It's only teasing if you're not prepared to do something about it. How about I redeem myself?'

I motion for Cartman to release me and close the lid of the toilet seat. I sit down in front of him, winking playfully as I undo the top button and fly on his jeans. To my surprise, he actually looks more nervous than I do, chewing his bottom lip in between his teeth as he watches me. It could just be anticipation though. Whatever it is, it doesn't stop him from moaning when I start sucking his stiff cock without any hesitation.

The hot smooth skin feels so good in my mouth. Cartman starts to moan, his fingers tightening in my hair encouraging me to take him deeper. At the back of my mind, I'm aware that we're in school and someone could come walking into the bathroom at any time and realise what we're doing, but I don't care. In fact, it only adds to my excitement. I take my time with my delicious little task, alternating between sucking and licking Cartman's cock, as well as fondling his balls in between my fingers.

Suddenly, Cartman pulls himself from my mouth and drags me back up to my feet. I eagerly receive his kiss, wrapping my arms around his neck as he reaches down and starts to unfasten my jeans.

'I dreamt about fucking you last night,' he murmurs in my ear.

I think that's the most beautiful thing that anyone's ever said to me. I growl in pleasure as Cartman's fingers curl around my cock.

Suddenly a bell rings to signal the end of first period and the start of second. We both freeze, standing silently in each other's arms and listening to people bustling around the hallway outside. A few people enter the bathroom, chattering and laughing loudly. Cartman and I both groan in frustration. What a turnoff – this spontaneous sex thing is great, but I guess we didn't consider the impact of being interrupted. Cartman absently strokes my hair as he looks thoughtful for a moment. When the noise outside dies down, he looks at me and treats me to one of his most charming smiles.

'Feel like skipping second period?'

* * * * *

I've never skipped a class before, but it's only English Lit. I'm already top of most of my classes anyway, so one absence isn't going to make or break my permanent record. I quickly follow Cartman as we sneak out of the school grounds into a thick cluster of trees beside the school. I've never been in here before, so I haven't a fucking clue where we're going. Cartman continues to walk deeper into the forest and I trail behind like a lost puppy, tripping over rocks and fallen branches every few steps. Cartman doesn't trip once – I guess he must come here pretty frequently.

Our journey comes to a halt as we enter a small clearing. It's only about ten foot square, well hidden by dense shrubbery. The treetops above us have prevented much snowfall here, so there are actually patches of green grass on the ground. A little path of dirt appears to have been worn around the circumference of the clearing, indicating once again that Cartman has been here more than once. This place is so perfect, it almost feels romantic. To be honest, I'm a little freaked out. I look at Cartman and grin.

'You know, there was a time when you would have brought me somewhere like this with every intention of killing me.'

Cartman lets out a loud laugh as he approaches me. 'Oh, how times change...'

He shoves me up against the nearest tree and we resume our make out session. It looks like foreplay is out of the question as Cartman's hands move to fumble with my jeans. I have no complaints, as I hastily unfasten Cartman's. Once those are out of the way, we start clawing at the fastenings on each other's jackets. I shrug out of mine and smile to myself as Cartman's fingers slide over the material of my shirt. He breaks the kiss and removes his jacket, draping it over the ground before forcefully shoving me down on top of it. Before I can move, Cartman flips me onto my back and slides on top of me, pressing his cock to mine as our lips meet again.

We're both still wearing our shirts and I guess that's how it's staying. I feel Cartman's thick fingers sliding inside me and stretching me out as I give his cock encouraging strokes. He presses something into my free hand – a condom.

'Make yourself useful,' he pants.

I carefully tear the little packet open as Cartman slicks his fingers with spit and finishes preparing me. He licks his lips as I roll the condom over his cock and without further hesitation, he pushes into me. We both moan loudly, a sound that seems to echo all around the clearing. Cartman throws my legs up over his shoulders so he can drive himself deeper inside of me. I fling my head back against the icy ground, squeezing my eyes shut as I cry out in rapture. Cartman moves in and out faster than I can keep up with, and even reaches down to stroke my cock in rhythm with his thrusts.

'Look at me, Kyle.'

My eyes snap open and lock with Cartman's. In that moment, an incredible wave of passion floods my system until I feel like my heart is about to overflow. I unhook my legs from his shoulders and reach up to grasp the back of his head in my hands. He's surprised to the point that he stops thrusting when I pull his face to mine and kiss him hard. After a few seconds, he responds and we lay there for what seems like an eternity, just kissing feverishly – Cartman's erect cock still inside me, his hands in my hair and my fingernails digging in his clothed shoulders.

Eventually, our lips separate and our eyes meet again. We're both wearing matching smiles as Cartman returns to pounding into me. A few more well angled thrusts are all it takes for me to erupt with a yelp of bliss. Cartman swiftly follows, collapsing on top of me with a moan. I manage to steal one more kiss before he rolls off me and settles beside me on our makeshift blanket.

'That was awesome!' Cartman gasps.

I nod wordlessly in agreement. We lay there silently in the afterglow, allowing our heart rates to slow to normal speed. I start to shiver as it hits me that I'm laying half naked on cold icy ground. This must have hit Cartman too as he sits up, snatches up our jeans and tosses mine to me. We both quickly make ourselves decent and lay back down on the jackets. I'm not at all surprised this time when Cartman wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me to him.

'So what's the deal then?' he asks.

'With what?'

'With you. Why are you so keen on me ass-fucking you all of a sudden? Are you gay? Bi? Confused? Desperate? Hot for me? Losing your fucking mind? What?'

That's a lot of options to choose from. Fortunately, I need only check two boxes.

'Well, I'm definitely gay...'

I trail off as Cartman looks at me expectantly. I'm not so sure I want to tell him this next part because I know how he'll react to it. But I guess after what's happened over the past few days it's probably pretty obvious anyway, so what harm could it do?

'And I'm...definitely hot for you.'

My heart stills in my chest as these words leave my mouth. I cringe at the smug, self-satisfied expression that lights up Cartman's face. I hate it when he looks like that. Regardless of how attracted I am to him, I could quite happily kick his teeth in right now. My cheeks are like two glowing crimson beacons. I could guide Santa's sleigh looking like this.

'Moi?' Cartman splutters in mock amazement. 'You mean that you - the almighty Jew, is hot for me - the lowly fatass? But how in the world could you, oh-squeaky clean one of such high ethical standards, feel so enticed by a conniving moral degenerate such as myself?'

'Yeah yeah, whatever,' I growl, rolling my eyes. 'I don't notice **you** complaining when I'm letting you nail me. What's **your** deal?'

Still smirking, Cartman sighs and looks up at the sky. He's silent for a moment, and purposefully doesn't look at me as he gives his answer.

'Look, you're an annoying whiny smartass little Jew-rat, and I hate you for it. But there's just something about you that makes me wanna fuck you every time I lay eyes on you. I think this screwing around together thing is totally fucking awesome, and I know you feel the same way. And since we're both single and horny, I suggest we continue to fool around together. Just for kicks, of course. You get yours, I get mine?'

I couldn't have hoped for a more perfect answer. I bring Cartman's attention back round to me by leaning in and kissing him lightly on the lips.

'No strings attached. It can be our little secret.'

'Yeah...'

Cartman stares at me thoughtfully for a second before kissing me again, this time prying my lips apart with his tongue. We explore each other mouth's aggressively, our warm bodies pressed close together fighting away the cold. When we part, Cartman grins.

'You're such a good lay. For a Jew.'

I roll my eyes. 'Oh yeah? Exactly how many Jews have you slept with?'

'Only one.'

'How many **people** have you slept with for that matter?'

Cartman hesitates before answering. 'See previous answer.'

Wow. So it was the first time for both of us. I don't know why I thought that Cartman had already been with someone in that way. I mean, he's pretty good looking now that he's older, but he's still an asshole. Nobody really likes him so I guess who would want to be with him in that way? Except for me, that is.

'So you lost your virginity to me too?'

'Nah, not technically.'

I blink, confused. 'Dude, you just said you've only ever been with me.'

'Yeah, but you didn't take my innocence the way I've taken yours.'

My eyebrow arches. 'So by your definition, a gay guy can only loose his virginity when he's been fucked in the ass for the first time?'

'Yes indeed. Therefore, I'm still pure and wholesome.'

I actually laugh out loud at that. 'Then how about I take **your** innocence some time?'

Cartman snorts. 'You'd have to kill me first, Jew. I'm the top, you're the bottom. It's the roles we were born to play.'

'That's not fair!'

'Life isn't fair!'

I'm about to reply when I'm distracted by Cartman's fingers raking through my hair. He stares at me, eyeing me in that hungry manner for a long time. I start to feel a little nervous. Just as I'm about to ask him if he's okay, he speaks.

'Maybe.'

'Huh? Maybe what?'

He sighs. 'Maybe...as in maybe I'll think about letting you...take my innocence sometime.'

Holy shit, dude! Before I can say anything, Cartman presses his lips to mine quickly.

'But you'll have to put in a lot of damn good behaviour first.'

I grin. 'Deal.'

We shake on it before finally making a move to leave. It's getting colder out here and the last thing we need is to both come down with something. Although the concept of spending a few days in bed together making each other feel better is very appealing. I follow Cartman back through the bushes, nearly slipping on a random patch of ice as I go. That reminds me...

'By the way, what was with that text message this morning?'

Cartman glances over his shoulder and shrugs. 'Your ass looks good today. You got a problem with compliments or something?'

I shake my head. 'No, I meant the one about the black ice.'

He's silent for a moment.

'People like to know about the weather.'

'What people? I know for a fact you didn't send it to Stan and Kenny. I asked them.'

There's another longer silence.

'Where are you going with this, Jew?'

I sigh, starting to get frustrated. 'I just don't understand why you would warn me, is all. I thought you would have loved me to have seen me come into school, wet and bruised after falling on my-.'

With an agitated grunt, Cartman suddenly turns around, sweeps me into his arms and kisses my lips firmly. I don't expect it, so I gasp for air and nearly fall over backwards when he pulls away. He laughs, his strong thick arms holding me up as he pulls my face to his.

'You think I'd want you to hurt yourself? Don't be silly, Kyle. After all, I can't very well have my new toy getting broken.'

He releases me and continues briskly through the trees, and I continue stumbling every step of the way. We only have to walk a few more yards and the school building comes into view. Not saying a word to each other, we quickly dash back onto the school grounds, just in time for lunch. As we enter the cafeteria, I hear Cartman muttering:

'My place after school?'

'Sure,' I reply as Stan waves at us from our usual table. I wave back and just as I make a move to walk forwards, Cartman very deliberately pushes by me and knocks me off balance. I fall into the nearest table and land squarely in Craig's lap.

'Dude!' Craig yells. 'What the fuck?'

'Maybe he's gonna kiss you,' Token sniggers.

'Uh-oh! Careful, boys! Kyle's at it again!' Cartman hollers.

Everyone in earshot laughs as Craig shoves me out of his lap. That fucking fatass! Cartman turns around to gage my annoyed reaction and smirks as he mouths the words: 'See you later, Jew.'

There's an aggravated scowl on my face as he strolls away to join the lunch line, but somewhere on the inside I'm still smiling brilliantly.

'_See you later, fatass.'_

* * * * *

_I actually finished this chapter early yesterday evening, I've just been fiddling about with it since then. Something about the flow of it just wasn't clicking for me. I think I'm more or less happy with it now. Let me know what you think!_

_DD_

_xx_


	9. Hush

_Author Notes: Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter 8. I was shocked that a few of you said it was your favourite chapter so far – I didn't think it was anything special. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I guess. Many thanks though! Here's chapter 9. Enjoy!_

**Chapter 9 - Hush**

It's been nearly four weeks since Cartman and I first made our 'agreement'. Publically, we've continued on as normal - hate you Jew, hate you fatass, etcetera. But when we're completely alone, it's anything but the norm. We have the fiercest, most passionate sex imaginable, doing things that would make Jenna Jameson blush. And everything that happens between us stays between us. It's our little secret. No strings attached.

The terms of this agreement were all well and good up until yesterday. Now I'm pissed off and horny, and all because Cartman doesn't know when he's taking things too fucking far. To cut a long story short, we were in school arguing about something ridiculous over lunch as normal. The usual insults were flowing back and forth between us as easily as they have done every day for the past twelve years. But then fatass had to go and overstep the mark.

'_Whatever, you dumb fucking kike.'_

He's deliberately used that word to piss me off in the past, but this time it was different. When I heard him say it, I felt a clamping sensation around my heart. I felt as if I was going to cry right there in front of everyone in the cafeteria. For the first time, I felt hurt by his retarded racist insults. So instead of giving my typical angry reply, I did the most un-Kyle-like thing I've ever done.

I got up and walked away.

How fucking stupid was that? We're supposed to be acting like everything is the same between us, and I go and walk away from an argument instead of getting up and kicking the crap out of him for saying something so horrible like I usually would. At first, I really thought I'd blown our cover, especially when Stan and Kenny came running after me. I thought up a lie in record time and told them that Cartman had made me so angry that I didn't want to hang around and do something that I'd regret later. They bought that excuse without question, much to my relief.

In truth though, I'm not really all that mad at Cartman – it's more like I'm disappointed in him. I know what we have is strictly sexual, but after the way we've been with each other for the past month or so, I didn't think it would be asking too much for him to have developed just a little respect for my feelings.

God, I sound like such a fucking chick right now.

And you know what the saddest thing about it is? This realisation hasn't changed my feelings for him. Even though he hurt me, it didn't stop me thinking about him all of last night. In fact, I'd give anything to be on my knees in front of him this very second.

It's for this reason that tonight is going to be a huge challenge. Stan's folks are out of town so he's having me Cartman and Kenny at his place to sleep over, just like old times. In true best friend form, Stan offered to un-invite Cartman so that I didn't have to feel uncomfortable. I reassured him that everything was fine, and that I could cope. Yet another lie - I'm not so sure that I **can** cope.

You see, Cartman and I haven't so much as touched each other since Tuesday, and it's now Friday. We **did** plan to get everything out of our systems last night, but due to the name calling incident, I didn't want that fatass within fifty feet of me and ignored my phone all night long. I'm really regretting having made that decision now. Curse me and my stupid ethics.

I glare at the sidewalk in frustration as I make my way to Stan's house. I guess I'll just have to keep my feelings towards Cartman covered up with the usual outward displays of anger. It's not like I'm not well practiced at it - it's what I've done for the past few years. It should be easy enough, considering I'm not currently speaking to him. I'm sure I can control my urges for one night. I mean, it's not like I'm an animal.

Goddamn it, I really wish I'd jacked off before leaving the house.

'Hey Brof! Wait up!'

I halt in my tracks as Kenny jogs up the street to catch up with me. I notice that the poor guy has the backpack he's had since he was seven slung over his shoulder. At least I know what to get him for Christmas now.

'Hey Ken.'

He smiles at me cheerfully. 'You've decided to come then? I'm glad. Stan told me you weren't sure 'cause of...well, you know. You okay?'

Kenny pats my shoulder sympathetically as we continue walking. I nod.

'Yeah, it's cool. Sorry for freaking out in school. I guess I was just having a bad day or something.'

'Hey, no need to explain. I understand. Cartman just doesn't seem able to control himself sometimes, especially when it comes to you.'

Ain't that the truth? In fairness though, it's not like **I'm** able to control **myself** when it comes to Cartman either. I shake any bad thoughts from my head as Kenny continues.

'I mean, he just doesn't seem to understand that what he said to you is the equivalent to him walking up to Token and using the N word. It's totally uncalled for, not cool.'

'Yeah...'

I don't mean to be so unresponsive to Kenny, but I just really don't want to talk about Cartman right now. Stan's house has just come into view, so this conversation shouldn't be an issue much longer. Kenny restlessly kicks out at a pile of leaves on someone's lawn.

'You know, it's strange but I really don't think Cartman meant for you to get so upset.'

My eyebrow arches at this. Yeah, right! Kenny notices my doubtful expression.

'I'm serious. When you got up and walked away, he got this...weird look on his face.'

Huh? 'What kind of look?'

'I dunno. I've never seen him look like that before. It was kinda like...like the look I get on my face when my dad catches me with his PlayBoys. Or like the look Stan gets when Wendy chews him out for cancelling dates with her so that he can play football. Like concerned, or guilty. If I didn't know Cartman better, I would have said that he felt bad or something.'

I sincerely doubt that. Cartman's never felt bad for anything in his life, except maybe himself. We stride up the Marshes' garden path to the front door in silence.

'Well, he must have been feeling something at least,' Kenny suddenly adds as he knocks on the door. 'According to Butters, he didn't even finish his lunch.'

Jesus Christ... Well, I hope he **does** feel bad – he deserves to after what he said to me. I just don't understand why he would. Before I can think on it further, Stan opens the door.

'Hey dudes.'

Kenny and I return the greeting as Stan allows us access to the living room. Unfortunately, Cartman is already there, sitting on the couch in the living room. His dark eyes flicker across to meet mine briefly before returning to the TV.

'Hi...Kenny,' he says.

I glower at that – so he's making a point of ignoring me now? He's probably pissed off at me for ignoring his calls and text messages last night. Good - let him be pissed off. It serves him right for being such an asshole. Kenny sits on the couch next to Cartman while I opt for sitting on the floor as far away from the couch as possible. Stan joins me, and he and Kenny start talking about...something. I try to concentrate on the conversation, but before I know it I've totally zoned out.

Cartman keeps looking at me. I can see him out of the corner of my eye. Goddamn that fat asshole – he's wearing the emerald green shirt that he knows I really like on him. He wore it last week when we had sex at my house for the first time. My parents were out at one of Ike's hockey games, and since it was pretty much the only place left in South Park that we hadn't had sex yet, I took the opportunity to ask Cartman over. When I answered the door, the first thing I said to him was 'That shirt looks great on you.'

Not that it was on him for very long...

'Did you hear that, Kyle? Sounds like you're popular.'

Stan's voice snaps me back to reality. 'Huh?'

Kenny grins at me. 'That chick who threw the party the other night totally has the hots for you.'

Oh really, Kenny? You mean someone whose name isn't Eric Theodore Cartman is interested in me? How boring - like I care. I shrug dismissively.

'I don't think I even spoke to her.'

'You didn't, but she was watching you all night. She said there was just something about you that she couldn't get enough of.'

Cartman sniggers loudly. 'What was that, his boy kissing skill?'

'Shut up, Cartman,' Stan says firmly.

Thank you, Stan.

'So what d'ya think, Kyle?' Kenny pries. 'You interested? She's hot.'

'I, er...'

I'm painfully aware right now that Kenny is the only person in this room that doesn't know that I'm gay. I could just come out and say it, but Stan doesn't know that Cartman knows and he'll want to know why I told him. I'm not prepared to open up a can of worms like that tonight.

'Kyle doesn't even know her name, Ken,' Stan helpfully chips in.

Kenny gasps, exasperated. 'Who cares what her name is? She's hot!'

'You're wasting your time, Kenny. Can't you see? Kyle's **so** not into chicks.'

My eyes snap up to meet Cartman's. Those sparkling chocolate brown orbs are practically dancing with mischief. I glare at him with all the ferocity I can muster, daring him to elaborate on that last sentence. He does.

'He's into homework and dolling himself up to look as queer as possible.'

Though he doesn't say anything quite as bad as I thought he would, Cartman is still pushing my buttons, and I involuntarily clench my fists. Stan and Kenny exchange worried glances at Cartman continues being a dick.

'Besides, Jews can only do other Jews. And they have to be cousins or something. It's Jewish law.'

I open my mouth to retaliate when Kenny fake-yawns loudly, cutting me off.

'Yeah well anyway, I'm hungry. You got anything we can snack on, Stan?'

'There's some popcorn in the kitchen,' Stan says. 'Kyle, you wanna go make it?'

He nods at me pointedly. I guess Stan doesn't want an argument tonight, and I did promise him that I could cope with Cartman being here. Scowling briefly at aforementioned fatass, I pounce off the couch and head towards the kitchen.

I sigh as I fling the popcorn bag into the microwave. I can't believe that asshole is still making Jew jokes, knowing full well how pissed off I am after what he said yesterday! And he has the nerve to look like **that** while he's doing it! Cartman frustrates me so much, it's unreal! He makes me so furious, yet I can't quite bring myself to ignore the fact that he looks good enough to eat. Stupid brain, stupid cock, stupid hormones, and most of all stupid fucking Cartman!

Someone clears their throat behind me and I turn to see the bane of my existence leaning against the kitchen doorway. God, he looks sexy in that shirt...My face betrays me and I momentarily look pleased to see him. I quickly scowl at him once again and turn my attention back to the microwave. His footsteps approach me as I try to focus on the popping sound of the corn.

'So how come you wouldn't answer your phone last night?'

He's directly behind me, his voice nothing more than a whisper in my ear. I shudder at the sensation of his familiar body heat, but I refuse to give in to him this time.

'I didn't feel like it.'

He snorts at my abrupt response. 'You're not really still pissed off over one stupid little word?'

'It isn't just a stupid little word to me, Cartman.'

'You're acting like I've never said it before. I thought we were supposed to be keeping up appearances.'

I feel his fingers absently trailing up my left arm. The nerve of this guy! I shrug away from his touch, still refusing to look at him as I raise my voice slightly to respond. The popping of the corn is becoming louder, more frequent.

'We **are**, but can't you do it without using that word? Do you even know the significance of it?'

'...It's just a word to insult a Jew,' comes the slow, predictable response.

'It happens to be deeply offensive and racist!'

'**I'm** deeply offensive and racist!'

'I've never heard you use the N word when you rip on Token.'

I'll have to thank Kenny for that argument later. Cartman sighs.

'That's different.'

'No, it isn't!'

I have to bite my lip to keep myself from laughing when Cartman jumps as I angrily spin around to look at him. Our faces are so close I could count his eyelashes if I wanted to. The popcorn in the microwave is popping like crazy. I suddenly feel inspired to aggressively crush our lips together in a kiss but manage to restrain myself. After all, we only reward good behaviour in this relationship - no use in rewarding him for being an insensitive dick.

'You can call me a dumb Jew and make wisecracks about Jewish stereotypes to your heart's content, but just don't say **that**.'

He rolls his eyes incredulously. 'It's just a word, Kyle!'

'It's a word that hurts me!'

'Words don't hurt people!'

'They do when the person saying them is...'

I don't finish my sentence. I don't really know how. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure what I was about to say. When the person saying them is...using you for sex? ...supposed to be your friend? ...someone who is supposed to have at least some degree of human feeling towards you? What was my point supposed to be exactly?

We stare at each other in silence for a moment as the popping in the microwave begins to slow. Finally, Cartman speaks.

'Fine. If you're gonna be such a fucking pussy about it, I won't say the K word anymore.'

'Huh?' He's giving up one of his favourite insults, just like that? No fucking way. I narrow my eyes sceptically. 'You swear?'

He sighs impatiently. 'Yes! Jesus Christ, anything to stop your bitching.'

That's probably the closest I'm ever gonna get to Cartman being sensitive to my feelings. It's close enough, I guess. Having glanced at the doorway to ensure that we're still alone, I smile happily and lightly brush his lips with mine. This seems to take Cartman by surprise, but he quickly takes advantage of the situation and slips his tongue in between my lips. I slide my arms around his neck and return the favour, allowing him to squeeze my hips in his palms and press my back against the kitchen counter top.

We have a tragically brief make out session which lasts until the microwave beeps, at which point we reluctantly separate. We smirk at each other as I turn to deal with the popcorn. That wasn't our most satisfying of encounters, but it should hold us over for now. It's kind of a shame that Stan and Kenny are here. Make-up sex goes great with popcorn.

'You guys okay in here?'

Kenny appears from around the corner just as I'm emptying the popcorn into a bowl. It's only at that moment that I realise had Kenny timed his interruption five seconds sooner, we would have been caught. That's so fucking hot.

'Everything's cool. Just Cartman grovelling for my forgiveness, is all.'

Cartman flips me off coolly. 'Grovel this, Jew! I had to shut you up somehow. Watching other dudes cry like pansies makes me feel fucking sick.'

'Since when have you ever made me cry, asshole?'

Kenny laughs. 'Yep, this is just like old times all right!'

He takes the bowl of popcorn from me and dashes back through to the living room. I make a move to follow him, smiling when I feel Cartman's hand swat my ass playfully.

Well, maybe not exactly like old times.

* * * * *

The popcorn disappeared pretty quickly, along with much of the other food in Stan's kitchen. We all just sat around making jokes, having food fights and watching lame Friday evening prime time TV. It didn't take me long to realise that Cartman was making it his mission for the evening to turn me on. He'd wink and smile at me every time he caught my eye and would subtly brush against me whenever he got the chance, like when both of our hands were fishing around in the popcorn bowl.

When Stan broke out the popsicles from the freezer, I couldn't help but retaliate to Cartman's flirting. It was like the spare ribs all over again, except this time I got to enjoy the expression on Cartman's face as I licked and sucked suggestively at a delicious food product. It brought a new element of entertainment to our relationship, brazenly flirting in front of our two oblivious friends. To be honest, I was starting to have a little too much fun - I really hope Cartman's free tomorrow night. I swear, one more day without him is gonna kill me.

Around eleven, we all changed into night shirts and sweatpants, settled into our sleeping bags on the floor in front of the TV and watched Cartman's choice of movie, which was the remake of 'Halloween'. I think Rob Zombie ought to stick to making kickass music – while it was an admirable attempt at a remake, he ended up turning one of the most terrifying horror movie icons of all time into a vulnerable albeit disturbed child. It just seems like when you're made to understand how the monster came to be, he just doesn't seem as scary anymore.

After the movie, Stan suggested we play a little X-Box. He said it was because he wasn't tired, but I think it's because the movie freaked him out. He's never been able to handle scary movies. So we played a little Mortal Kombat and ate some cookies that Cartman had made at home. I didn't have any though – Cartman always uses enough sugar in his cooking to send me into a diabetic coma.

After half an hour of focusing on the screen, I feel my eyes start to flutter shut. It feels like only a few seconds have passed, but when I open my eyes the room is in darkness. Stan and Kenny have both crashed on the floor where they were settled. I look around the room for Cartman, but he's nowhere to be found. Suddenly a hand clamps over my mouth, muffling my voice as I cry out in fright. I look up and find teasing chocolate brown eyes staring back at me.

'Hello, Kyle.'

I push Cartman's hand out of the way. 'What do you want?'

'I just thought I'd...grovel for your forgiveness a little more.'

In my mind's eye, I can see the humungous smile on Cartman's face as he murmurs these words into my ear. He slowly unzips my sleeping bag and moves inside of it to straddle me. I'm immediately uncomfortable with this, as I'm very aware of our two friends snoring softly on the floor beside us.

'Dude, what the hell-?'

His lips are on mine before I can finish. I try to push him off, but his strong hands grasp my wrists and pin them to the floor above my head. I moan in protest, clamping my teeth down on his tongue as it tries to gain entry to my mouth. Cartman reluctantly pulls back and grins, seemingly ignoring the fact that I've just tried to bite off his tongue.

'Don't you think it was pretty hot, making out in the kitchen earlier with these assholes just in the next room?' he whispers.

'Yeah, in **the next** room. Not actually **in** the room!'

Cartman chuckles. 'Then I guess we'll just have to be subtle, won't we?'

He presses his lips against mine lightly and releases my wrists. It's almost like he's inviting me to decide whether or not to take things further. I sigh, glancing between Stan and Kenny. They both look pretty out of it. And it's been a while since Cartman and I have played together. Three days is a long time when you're a horny teenager. Maybe if we're really quiet...

Cartman moans softly as the tip of my tongue strokes his bottom lip and our kiss deepens. My hands start to wander over the familiar curves of Cartman's generous form, and I start to relax a little. I suppose it **is** after two in the morning, and Stan and Kenny are both heavy sleepers. Perhaps we can get away with just a little making out. Cartman breaks our kiss and starts whispering in my ear, toying with my hair with one hand and unbuttoning my night shirt with the other.

'I'm so glad I pissed you off earlier. You're so fucking cute when you're angry. You screech and growl, just like a pissed off little ginger kitten. My perfect little pussycat.'

Once all of my buttons are undone, his hand traces invisible patterns up and down my chest. Suddenly, his fingers slip inside my sweatpants and curl around my hardening cock, stroking lazily. I jump and yelp quite loudly, my eyes darting back and forth between the sleeping forms of our friends. I'm trying so hard to stay quiet and not to get too aroused, but as Cartman's strokes become firmer, it becomes increasingly difficult.

'Ah! Cartman, stop it! We're gonna get caught!'

'Shut up then.'

'I can't! Not when you're...doing that!'

My eyes have adjusted to the dim light enough that I can see Cartman look up at me, his half-lidded eyes burning in the darkness with an almost drunken lust. He kisses my chest tenderly, causing me to blush as he affectionately squeezes my erect shaft. Cartman nuzzles his face into my shoulder, his low sultry voice reverberating around my rib cage as he speaks.

'Ah, yes. You've missed this, haven't you Kyle? You've missed the way my skin feels against yours, the way I kiss you, the way I make you feel. Haven't you?'

'Yes!' I hiss.

'Good. I've missed it too. Now, purr for me like a good kitty.'

Cartman starts to build up the pace of his strokes, his tongue and teeth teasing my neck and chest. Pleasure spreads like wildfire throughout my body, and I have to bite my lip hard to keep from crying out. With his free hand, Cartman removes my sweatpants completely, giving him better access to my cock. He continuously strokes with one hand, his other alternating between tweaking my nipples and fondling my tightening balls.

'Oh...'

A soft moan of pleasure manages to escape my lips. Cartman chuckles and leans up to kiss and bite at my neck and ears. I let out another delighted groan - the bastard knows I always make the most noise when he focuses his attention to these areas. I writhe on the floor beneath him, glancing over at our two sleeping friends every time I make any sort of noise. As terrified as I am of getting caught, I'm totally on the brink of exploding. I bite my lip so hard that it almost bleeds.

'I bet you wish you could scream my name. Don't you, my pretty little kitty-cat?'

Cartman's mouth clamps down on mine and a strangled cry of bliss erupts from me as my lips part to permit his tongue. Every inch of my body is like a mega-sensitive receptor to Cartman's every touch. I'm almost blinded by my need to cum. In this moment, I really don't care if Stan, Kenny or the entire town of South Park see what we're doing. Cartman breaks the kiss, locking eyes with me.

'Do it. Scream my name, Kyle.'

'Ca-CARTMAN!'

I really do scream his name, loud enough to wake the neighbours let alone Stan and Kenny. It's the last thing on my mind however as I empty my seed into Cartman's encouraging hand.

'That's it, Kyle...'

'Oh, God...'

My body trembles and my vision is obscured by flashing lights as the aftershock of my orgasm rocks my body. Cartman holds me until I'm done, stroking and kissing my skin in his usual firm but soothing manner. I smile contentedly - his skin feels so good against mine. When I've recovered, I kiss him hard and find a familiar taste in his mouth. I guess he must have cleaned off his hand while I was getting my breath back. When we part, I glance around the room, suddenly very aware of where we are. Miraculously, Stan and Kenny are still fast asleep.

'Dude, what if they'd woken up?' I whisper.

'They wouldn't have done,' Cartman mutters. 'They're out cold. Watch...'

I nearly jump out of my skin as he turns his face towards Stan and Kenny, and starts screaming at the top of his lungs.

'HEY, ASSHOLES! YOU JUST MISSED ME AND KYLE GETTIN' IT ON! HEY KENNY! STAN, YOU WANT SOME JEW SPOOGE?'

'DUDE!' I splutter.

Cartman looks back at the horrified expression on my face and starts howling with laughter. I impulsively punch him on the shoulder.

'What the fuck, Cartman?!'

'Chill out, they're not gonna wake up,' he sniggers.

'They will if you keep screaming like that!'

'Not likely,' he smirks. 'You see, those cookies were very special...'

It takes me a second to realise what he means.

'Cartman!'

'What?'

'You've drugged them?!'

'I've **sedated** them,' he corrects me. 'With a harmless natural remedy, so don't get your panties in a bunch. It'll be the best night's sleep they'll ever have. They're both wearing earplugs too. So they definitely aren't gonna hear us or wake up.'

'You could have told me that earlier!' I snap.

'But it wouldn't have been half as exciting for you then, right?'

I don't answer. I just allow his lips to claim mine again. Cartman's never been a fan of keeping things simple. But I guess it's that creativity that makes what we do together so exciting. Our lips part and Cartman's voice suddenly takes a serious tone to it.

'So what do you think of this chick liking you then?'

I blink. 'Well...nothing, being gay and all.'

What a stupid question. Why the hell would I care that a girl likes me?

'What if it was a guy?'

'Huh?'

Cartman sighs impatiently before repeating himself. 'If a guy liked you in that way, would you go for it?'

He's now doing that weird thing where he won't look at me when he's talking. I hate it when he does this. For someone who says the most lewd and outrageous things when they're talking dirty, he certainly needs a few lessons in being direct in normal conversation. Just what the hell is he getting at this time? I guess I'll never know until I've answered the question.

'Well...why **would** I go for it? I'm not interested in a relationship right now, Cartman. I'm quite happy just doing what we're doing and getting on with my life.'

He nods, resting his head against my chest and sighing. This concerns me a little – I worked out a long time ago that Cartman has abandonment issues, with not ever having a dad and his mom routinely going AWOL. Maybe he's worried that I'll just cut and run at some point too. Of course, I could be totally wrong – after all, this is just a sex thing. It's not like I mean anything to him. But the strange thing is that despite all the bullshit that Cartman and I have put each other through over the years, or perhaps even because of it, I really couldn't imagine my life without him. I guess he's special to me somehow, and I truly believe that he'll always be part of my life in some capacity. I don't think I could leave him even if I wanted to.

'So...don't worry about it,' I add in hope of reassuring him, running my fingers through his hair soothingly. Cartman glances up at me, looking confused for a second before laughing softly.

'Huh? I'm not worried, Jew. It's no strings attached, right? We can both fuck whoever we like.'

That's true. That's what we agreed. But somehow, that part of our agreement doesn't seem so appealing anymore, and not just because I feel sorry for him over his parental issues. Over these past few weeks, I've thought a lot about what Wendy said, about finding me kissing Stan hot. And somehow, I've come to the conclusion that I don't think that I'd find Cartman kissing someone else hot. At all. In fact, the thought of someone else even touching him makes me feel really strange. The idea of him fucking someone else makes me want to throw up. And I have no idea why. All I know for sure is...

'I don't wanna share you anymore.'

The words tumble out of my mouth before I can make a conscious decision to allow them to. I cringe as Cartman sits up and stares at me, slack-jawed and now even more confused. I allow my brain to go onto autopilot as I try to conjure up an explanation for my outburst.

'I mean, why should I? I'm the one that you've tormented for years with your bigotry. I'm finally getting something good out of hanging around and putting up with your crap for so long. This is my reward - why should anyone else get a piece?'

I think that's a pretty good reason. I'm not sure that Cartman agrees. His expression reads as blank, although his eyebrow is cocked curiously. I clear my throat nervously.

'Erm...is that...selfish?'

Duh! Of course it is! Regardless, Cartman slowly breaks into a grin, reaching up to stroke my cheek fondly with the back of his hand.

'Not at all. I don't like sharing my toys either. So I have no problem with attaching just this one little string to our agreement...' He pauses to press a firm kiss to my lips. 'Provided that you can singlehandedly keep me satisfied, that is.'

I smile in the way I know he likes the most. 'Is that a challenge?'

'Take it however you want it, Jew.'

I glance over at our two friends, sedated and earplugged on the floor no less than five feet away from us.

'How long did you say the guys will be out for?' I ask innocently.

'All night long.'

Cartman's tone tells me he knows where I'm going with this.

'Perfect,' I conclude, pulling him into another searing kiss.

* * * * *

_Sorry to end the chapter here, but I want to leave a little to the imagination. Just for once! Plus, the whole 'I don't wanna share you' thing kind of burned me out. My Kyle character has a very complicated little mind – he thinks far too fucking much, and getting his thoughts looking legible is a pain in the ass._

_Anyway, that was chapter 9! Your comments are always very much appreciated, so please review. Chapter 10 shall be coming soon._

_DD_

_xx_


	10. Better

_Author Notes: Many thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter, and to those who didn't. I just realised that I only ever thank people who review, and that's kind of rude. So, thanks everyone! This chapter is pretty long, over 6,000 words. So please do try not to fall asleep half way through like I did when I was proof-reading it. Enjoy!_

**Chapter 10 - Better**

Another week of me singlehandedly keeping Cartman satisfied has passed, and still nobody suspects a thing. Sneaking around isn't nearly as difficult as I thought it would be. Kenny tends to prefer hanging out with Craig and those guys nowadays and Stan has Wendy to distract him a lot of the time, so neither of them tend to question where Cartman and I disappear off to together.

Even when we're in a group situation, we manage to steal a moment or two together. Like on Wednesday when a group of us went to the movies together, we both snuck off to the bathroom and fooled around in one of the stalls. When we returned to our seats looking flushed and messy, we blamed it on fighting. We missed most of the movie, but so what? I doubt any movie could be as interesting as fooling around with Cartman anyway.

Speaking of interesting, ever since the conversation we had at Stan's sleepover, Cartman's been...different. Not drastically, but certain things about him have changed, insignificantly enough that I think I'm the only one who actually notices. For example, when we're ripping on each other, his voice lacks a lot of it usual venom - his tone is a lot more teasing than malicious. And when we're alone together, whether it's just for a minute in the hallway at school or laying in bed after sex, he'll talk to me more openly, like he doesn't hate me as much anymore. Like he's my friend.

It's almost like the string we added to our agreement has given him a sense of security, and somehow he's happier and, dare I say, nicer because of that. Either that or I've worn him out to the point that he doesn't have the energy to be an asshole anymore. Whatever the reason, I'm not complaining. It's making my life a hell of a lot easier.

Anyway, today is Saturday. It's the middle of the afternoon and I'm curled up on the couch with a good book. I snuck out to Cartman's for a couple of hours last night, so my body still feels warm and relaxed from the fun we had. Ike is sat on the other side of the couch watching hockey on TV as usual, which is much of the reason why I started reading. The only cool thing about hockey is the fights. They're fucking hilarious and so totally fake, like something right out of pro-wrestling. Ike disagrees and thinks I'm retarded for thinking that way. That's fine – the feeling's mutual.

Suddenly I hear my mom's thunderous footsteps on the stairs behind us. I glance up from my book to see a stern look on her face. Oh, Jesus - what have I done this time?

'Bubbeleh, why are your father's books on the floor in the bottom of your closet?'

Oh, for the love of Moses! Why the hell is it that she still feels the need to snoop around my room? I tidy it myself so she has no good reason to be in there. I appreciate that's it's her house and all, but I'm a teenager. I'm entitled to just a little privacy, surely.

'I'm just not interested in reading them right now, Mom.'

'But you'll be going to college soon, Kyle. The sooner you acquaint yourself with the material you'll be studying, the better.'

Aw, shit. I really don't want to get into this conversation right now. But I guess she's right about one thing – before I know it, I'll be sending out college applications. I'll need to make my intentions clear at some point. I clear my throat and place my book down on the couch beside me. Ike gives me a fearful look out of the corner of his eye – I've discussed my career plans with him before, and he knows as well as I do that Mom won't like what I have in mind.

'Look Ma, I've been thinking. I'm not sure that being a lawyer is the right career for me.'

She narrows her eyes as she approaches me, choosing to stand and hover over me in that intimidating way that she does rather than sit down and talk to me the way a nice, understanding mom would.

'What are you talking about, Kyle? Your father was a lawyer, your uncles are all lawyers and so was your grandfather.'

'I know. I just don't see that as a valid reason for **me** to want to be one.'

Her hands are on her hips now. She looks like a gigantic angry screech owl. I have Ike to thank for making that comparison a few months back. If I laugh right now and get grounded, I'll kick his ass.

'Of course you want to be one,' Mom presses. 'Ike wants to be a lawyer too. Don't you, Ike?'

I've asked Ike this question before. His answer to me was, 'Hell no, I wanna play pro-hockey!' But of course, since its mom asking, he nods and smiles politely. Stupid Canadian.

'Mom, you can't dictate what I'm going to be when I grow up. If I choose to study law, I'll be stuck with that choice for the rest of my life. I want to do something that I'll enjoy.'

'You mean waste your life on playing sports like your friend Stanley? Do you have any idea how rare it is to make it as a professional sportsman?'

I hear Ike sigh softly. Poor kid. He may not have been born with a backbone, but I was.

'Stan's hardly wasting his life, mom. He's been the quarterback on every team he's been on since third grade! He's even getting a scholarship. And when did I say anything about wanting to play sport? I've really been thinking about this and I feel I'd be good at doing somethi-'

She turns her back and starts taking items out of a laundry basket to fold. I guess that's the end of that conversation then.

'We'll discuss this further when your father gets home, Kyle. Now go to your room and do your homework.'

I scowl. 'I've done all my homework.'

'Well, go to your room anyway.'

My teeth grind together as I feel myself starting to get angry. If there's one thing I've got from my mom other than her big stupid nose, it's her big stupid temper.

'I'm 16, Mom! Ya know, nearly an adult. You can't just send me to my room anymore, especially when I haven't done anything wrong.'

'Now, Kyle!'

'You're being unreasonable!'

'Kyle, do as I say!'

'Screw this!'

I suddenly leap off the couch, startling both Ike and Mom. Grabbing my coat from the hanger, I storm out of the front door and slam it behind me. I can hear Mom shrieking after me from inside the house, but I don't slow my pace as I stomp down on the path to the sidewalk. I need to go for a walk and cool off.

God, she pisses me off so much sometimes! What the hell does it matter what I do for a career as long as I'm happy? She probably only wants me to be a lawyer so that she can brag to all the other Jewish moms about how successful her son is, same reason why she wants me to stay a virgin until the day I marry a nice Jewish girl and have two kids. I can't wait to see her face the day that she finds out **that's** not gonna be a possibility either. Or her reaction to the fact that her precious bubbeleh's cherry has already been popped by the town Nazi.

I really need to blow off some steam. Usually when this is the case, I head for Stan's place to play video games. But today, my body has automatically walked in the opposite direction to Stan's house. Or more specifically, I've automatically gone in the direction of Cartman's house. I guess that's where I'll go then – a little aggressive sex will probably help me cool off quicker than playing video games anyway. I should probably feel guilty that I've opted for Cartman over Stan, but I don't. God knows he's done it to me enough when it comes to Wendy.

I reach Cartman's front door and knock loudly. I hear his usual annoyed shouts as he stomps to answer the door. When he flings it open, his glare melts into a surprised smile. He catches himself smiling and forces his face into a neutral expression. I smirk inwardly - I dare say that he actually looked happy to see me for a second there!

'Hey, Jew.'

'Hey, fatass.'

He steps back to let me in and closes the door behind us. I turn my head towards him briefly to check him out and I'm vaguely aware of him doing the same to me. We're both in jeans and t-shirts today and that's just fine – Cartman still looks totally fucking irresistible as far as I'm concerned. He gestures for me to follow him up the stairs.

'I'm in my room right now,' he explains over his shoulder. 'My mom's getting ready to go out and I'm trying to stay the hell out of her way.'

That's understandable – I don't think I'd want to see my mom all dolled up for a night of whoring either. In fact, the idea of it sends shivers down my spine. As soon as the bedroom door closes behind us, Cartman pulls me into his arms and kisses me firmly. My eager lips part and our tongues dance together excitedly as they greet each other. When we separate, Cartman guides me over to his bed and gestures for me to sit. Rather than jumping straight in to molest me as he usually would, he sits down beside me and puts his hand on my knee, squeezing lightly.

'So Kyle, I didn't expect to see you again so soon. I thought I gave you plenty of good ol' fashioned ass-banging last night. You just can't get enough of me, can you?'

I roll my eyes. 'Knock it off, you egomaniac. I've just had a rough afternoon and need a little cheering up.'

Cartman takes that as an invitation to start kissing my neck. Of course, I'm more than happy to let him.

'Funny you should say that,' he says in between kisses. 'I could do with a little pick-me-up after the day I've had too.'

'How come?'

He pulls away from me a little and sighs. 'My mom took me to the vets today.'

'Why, what's wrong with you?'

Okay, that was mean, but I couldn't resist. Cartman glares at me, but it's only a half assed glare.

'Ya see, **this **is why we never come to each other with problems.'

I grin sheepishly. 'Sorry, dude. Was it your cat?'

'She got put to sleep.'

Shit. Now I feel guilty for making that dumb joke. Cartman really loved that cat. Well, he was fond of it anyway. I think Cartman's probably too emotionally cool to love anything. He either hates something or doesn't seem to care one way or the other. For lack of anything better to do, I take his hand in mine and squeeze it gently.

'That sucks. She was a cool cat. I know you were fond of her.'

He shrugs. 'Yeah, well. She was really old, couldn't really move all that good and was starting to smell bad. If I were in her position, I'd want someone to put me out of my misery too.'

Cartman listlessly glances at our joined hands and looks slightly uncomfortable. Taking the hint, I release his hand and pretend to scratch an itch at the back of my neck. He clears his throat.

'So what's up with you, Jew?'

I shake my head. 'Nah, my problem seems dumb compared to yours now.'

'I told you, it's not a big deal. Come on, I need a good laugh right now,' he smirks. 'Let me guess...your mom?'

I frown. I guess it was pretty obvious – whenever I have a problem, it's usually either because of my mom or him. Still, he doesn't have to be so fucking astute.

'Shut up, dude. I just told her I don't want to be a lawyer and she freaked out. She thinks I need to be just because my dad is.'

'I understand. I don't particularly want to join my family business either.'

I giggle at this. Cartman joins me, though his laugh sounds rather bitter.

'So if not a lawyer, what d'ya wanna do? Doctor? Accountant? Or are you just gonna find some rich old gay bastard to marry and then live off his fortune when he dies?'

'I wanna be a child therapist.'

Cartman takes a moment to absorb this information, slowly raising an eyebrow.

'Like...Mr Mackey?'

I snigger. 'Kind of.'

Cartman grins, but the look on his face tells me he needs a little more in the way of an explanation.

'I just remember all that shit we went through when we were kids and how much we appreciated having an understanding adult like Chef around to talk to. I feel like I could make such a difference offering kids a shoulder to cry on and helping make their lives just a little easier.'

'Mmm...that's pretty gay.'

'Hey! I think I'd be really good at it.'

'And I agree with you.'

My annoyed face switches to one of surprise. Did Cartman just compliment me there?

'Really?'

He shrugs. 'Sure. You're a good listener and stuff. I don't get your mom's problem. I mean, that's kinda like a doctor. Jew moms like their kids to be doctors too, right?'

'Yeah, exactly.'

It's so refreshing to get a reaction like that. When I told Stan, he said he supported my decision but felt that I was aiming way below my level of ability. Ike just said 'Cool, but whatever you do, don't tell mom.' I didn't expect Cartman to be so understanding. He's barely even ripped on me for it.

'So...what do you wanna do for a career?' I ask.

He looks thoughtful for a moment. 'Well...it's stupid. Kinda lame.'

I didn't know Cartman had an ambition, even if it **is** stupid and lame. How intriguing. 'What?'

'Guess.'

I say the first thing that pops into my head. 'Dictator of a Nazi regime?'

Cartman laughs. 'I wish!'

'Conman and extortionist?'

'Try again.'

'Professional pie eater?'

'No. And fuck you.' He flips me off but is still smirking.

'I give up. What?'

'...Let me show you.'

He reaches under the bed and pulls out a scrap book. I take it from him and flip it open to a random page. It's full of photographs of places that look familiar somehow. It takes me a while to realise that they're all photos of different parts of South Park. I barely recognise them because the photos make the places look so breath-taking. I glance up at Cartman, who seems to be waiting for my reaction.

'You took these?' He nods. 'Cartman, these are awesome.'

He turns his face away. 'I guess they're okay.'

'No, really. This one's so cool!'

I point out one in particular that I really like. It's a black and white photo of the old train tracks next to Kenny's house. The tracks are all snowy and look eerily beautiful. Cartman looks at what I'm pointing to and shrugs.

'It's not really. The angle's kinda off and I used the wrong light filter for the effect I wanted.'

I roll my eyes. Cartman's always had trouble taking compliments, especially from me. I flick through a few more pages of the scrap book before closing it and handing it back.

'Well, I think they're great. You could really do this as a career if you work at it.'

He allows himself to smile a little at this as he returns the scrap book to where it came from.

'In that case when you meet the fag of your dreams in the future, I'll do your commitment ceremony photography for a special price.'

I snigger. 'Sure. I guess I can always give you a discount on therapy in return.'

Cartman doesn't laugh. Instead, he gets a strange look on his face, like he's not too sure how to take what I've just said. I laugh nervously.

'I'm kidding, dude.'

He forces a smile, not meeting my eyes.

'Yeah, sure...anyway, wanna hang out for a while or something?'

* * * * *

It took me a while to get things back to being comfortable between us again. I soon found that pouncing on him and kissing him was the best course of action. He gladly kissed back, but when I tried to take things further, Cartman pushed me away and said he couldn't while his mom was still in the house. This surprised me, as we had actually done stuff when Liane was in the house a few times before. I guess I had really offended him with that therapy comment.

It probably did hit a little close to home – with all of Cartman's problems, chances are he really does need therapy. But since when has he been so damn sensitive about it? Probably for the same reason I got so sensitive about Cartman saying the K word to me the other week. I guess our relationship is changing somehow – like, maturing. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I do feel bad if I've upset him though. I'm sure I'll get the chance to convince him to forgive me later tonight.

Even after we hear Liane leave, we stay in Cartman's room. Again, instead of diving straight into anything sexual, Cartman suggests that we relax on the bed and watch a movie together. It's sort of an alien experience – I think this is the first time we've been in a room together alone without fighting or fucking. It's kinda...nice, like that talk that we had earlier before I fucked it up. It's very rare for me have moments like that with Cartman. Moments in which I feel as if we're real friends instead of just two people that hang out together by default.

I feel strangely comfortable being curled up on Cartman's bed with him like this, my head resting against his shoulder. Yep, this moment right now is pretty damn nice. He's even slipped his arm around me, pulling me into him as closely as possible. I smile to myself - how cute. It probably makes us look like we're an actual couple as opposed to just...

Okay, let's stop **that **thought process right there! What the hell am I thinking? Of course we're not an actual couple. How could we be? Granted, we've been getting along better since we started screwing around, but we still hate each other, don't we? He's still the Nazi and I'm still the Jew. Today has just been one of those rare good moments and that's what I should take it as.

I guess at least something good has come out of today. That reminds me...I reach into my jeans pocket for my phone and quickly send a text message to Ike to let him know I'm staying over at a friend's house tonight. Though I'm more than happy to be staying with Cartman, it really sucks that my mom is such a bitch that I don't even feel like returning to my own home for fear of facing her. Goddamn it, Mom. Why do you always have to be such a fucking Jew about everything?

I sigh heavily and feel Cartman's eyes on me. After a second, he takes his arm from around my shoulders and rolls over to play around with something on his bedside table. I don't look at what he's doing – I'm too busy trying to keep my eyes fixed forward so that I don't cry. I can't believe I'm letting the fact that my mom's a bitch make me feel like crying. I guess I'm just tired or something. Suddenly, something appears in front of my face. It's Cartman's clenched and colourful fist.

'_Buenas tardes, Kyle!'_

Oh Jesus, no! I stare at the big eyes and bright red lips drawn on Cartman's hand in disbelief. I turn my gaze to Cartman, who grins playfully before continuing to speak in 'Mz Lopez's' Mexican falsetto voice.

'_Aww, you no happy to see me?_ _Why you look so sad?'_

I look back at the hand puppet thing and deliver a deadpan response. 'I'm screwing a lunatic and I'm concerned that it's infectious.'

Cartman sniggers. '_Aww, that's too bad. Would you like some kisses, Kyle?'_

'No, thanks.'

'_It will cheer you up!'_

Is that what he's trying to do? Cheer me up? I crack the tiniest smile at this thought.

'No.'

'_Oooh, Kyle! Your lips are so full and delicious! Let me kiss them.'_

Cartman gently nudges the side of my mouth with his fist. I defiantly turn my face away.

'Stop it!'

'_Would you like me to sing for you, Kyle?'_

'No!'

There's a pause as Cartman looks thoughtful, then suddenly 'Mz Lopez' starts to sing.

'_Oh Kyle, why you look so sad,_

_When you have such a lovely smile,_

_I cannot stand to see you mad,_

_So let me kiss you for a while, mwah!'_

The last line is accentuated as Cartman's hand presses against my lips. I grab his stupid hand in mine, trying desperately not to smile.

'Dude, shut the hell up!'

Smirking all over his goofy face, Cartman pulls his hand from mine and continues his squeaky improvised generic pop song.

_Oh Kyle, stop your snarling,_

_Relax, stop being so gay_

_And close your pretty eyes, my darling,_

_And I'll kiss your cares away._

As 'Mz Lopez' swoops in for another kiss, I firmly take hold of Cartman's hand again. I try to look angry as my eyes lock on his.

'Get that fucking thing out of my face!'

I planned on saying that sternly, but I only get halfway through the sentence before I burst out laughing. Cartman laughs too. 'Ya know, there once was a time when you wouldn't have found that funny.'

I shrug. 'There was also a time when I wouldn't have touched you with a twenty foot pole.'

'Well...let's forget about those times then.'

I gladly grip the back of Cartman's neck as he cups my face in his hands and kisses me deeply. The intensity of the kiss builds rapidly as our tongues clash and our fingers start clawing at each other's clothes. I quickly relieve Cartman of his t-shirt as he moves to straddles my hips. He roughly tugs my shirt from me, casting it aside before turning his attention to my jeans. Continuing to kiss me hard as he unzips me, Cartman slips his hand under the denim material to meet my underwear and stroke at my bulge. Suddenly alarmed, I pull away from the kiss. Cartman gives me a confused look and I blush a little.

'Er...could you wipe that thing off your hand first?'

Slowly removing his hand from my jeans, Cartman examines the face drawn on his finger and thumb, then looks back at me incredulously.

'You're kidding, right? Of all the kinky shit that we've done, you're saying that me touching you with a little Sharpie ink on my hand freaks you out?'

I frown. 'It's just...creepy!'

Not surprisingly, he starts laughing his ass off. I guess it does sound kind of silly. Ever helpful, Cartman brings 'Mz Lopez' back up to my face and starts chattering in that stupid voice again.

'_Ooh, senor. I was hoping to give you a little of the oral stimulation, Si?'_

Shaking my head, I lean towards Cartman's hand and drag my tongue over the pen marks. I meet Cartman's curious gaze and wink as I firmly rub away the drawn on eyes and lips with my thumb.

'Sorry 'Mz Lopez', but I'm not up for a threesome. Cartman is more than enough for me.'

Cartman gets that insanely happy shit-eating grin on his face, but for once it doesn't annoy me. Content that 'Mz Lopez' has vanished, I pull Cartman back in for another kiss. He responds enthusiastically, hands sliding back into my jeans and underwear and swiftly yanking them down together. I wriggle my legs to totally free myself from them, allowing Cartman to lean back and admire my body. It's a part of his usual pre-'fucking my brains out' ritual, but it still always makes me flush with embarrassment.

'You're so fucking sexy, Kyle,' he gushes. 'I don't know what I've done to deserve the privilege of being able to fuck such a sexy-assed little Jew like you.'

I can't help but wonder if he really means it or if he's just saying it to get me hot. Either way, he succeeds in doing just that. And for that very reason, I decide to be naughty and mix things up a little. I quickly push Cartman onto his back, which is made easier by the fact that he's not expecting it, and pounce on top of him. I ignore his look of surprise as I run my hands over his chest and kiss his neck hungrily.

'You wanna fuck me, huh?' I murmur in his ear.

'You're damn right I do.'

His hands grip firmly at my hips as he grinds his crotch against mine. The rough material of his jeans feels like a Brillo pad against my sensitive skin, and I let out a thick moan of pleasure. Locking eyes with Cartman, I smile and say, in my best falsetto Mexican voice:

'But, senor. I was hoping to give you a little oral stimulation first, Si?'

Cartman's hands freeze on my skin as he stares at me blankly.

'Now **that** was fucking creepy!'

We both laugh softly as Cartman gives me an encouraging push down towards his crotch. I unfasten his jeans and allow his cock to spring forth. This is one of my favourite things to do to Cartman, and not surprisingly he seems to like it too. I've noticed that he prefers it when I alternate between sucking and jacking him with my hand, so that's what I do. Cartman growls contentedly in response, his fingers tugging at my hair.

'Oh, you're so fucking good at that, Kyle,' he moans. 'My sweet little kosher cocksucker.'

I smile to myself – he has so many different pet-names for me, and there isn't a single one that I don't like the sound of. I lick the head of his cock like it's the most delicious thing I've ever tasted before sliding his length into the back of my throat. Of course, I don't neglect his precious balls, stroking them gently and rolling them around in the palm of my hand. I keep this up until I hear that distinctive grunt of pleasure and feel his cock twitch against my tongue.

As his cum floods my mouth, I'm reminded of the first time Cartman did this to me and decide to return the favour. I pretend to swallow down Cartman's load, but hold it in my mouth instead. Smiling sweetly, I crawl up the length of his body and lean in to kiss him. As my lips come into contact with his, I'm flipped onto my back. Cartman quickly mounts me, clamps one hand over my mouth and pinches my nose shut with the thumb and index finger of his other hand. God-fucking-damn it! It's now a case of either swallowing or choking to death, so I admit defeat and swallow.

Cartman releases me and I splutter slightly. Our eyes meet and we smirk at each other.

'Nice try, you sneaky Jew.'

'Well, you fucking fatass, I owed you one if you remember,' I pout a little, just because I know he thinks it's cute when I do. 'You could have just humoured me.'

'I know, but I figured you probably need the extra protein more than I do.' He pointedly runs his hand over my flat stomach then continues downwards to capture my dick. 'Ready to let me fuck you yet?'

'I'm always ready,' I say breathily.

Cartman's smile widens as he starts to gently pump my erect cock.

'How do you want it?'

'Hard and rough, of course.'

Happy to oblige, Cartman leans in and nips at my neck like a starving vampire. Great - it's always fun trying to explain hickeys to everyone. Stan thinks I have bedbugs, my mom's seems sure I'm allergic to the fabric softener she uses and Ike's convinced that some guy gives me them while I'm getting fucked in the ass. Smart kid, my little brother.

Cartman reaches into the little drawer of his bedside table and produces a condom and a bottle of lube. He hands me the bottle as he goes about rolling the condom over his cock. I dispense a small dab of lube onto my fingers and slide them up inside my ass. Cartman watches, smirking appreciatively. He likes watching me prepare myself for him. He takes the lube bottle from me and lathers a little onto his cock, stroking himself leisurely as I finish preparing myself.

When I'm done, Cartman slides in between my legs and applies one single firm kiss to my lips. He presses the head of his cock against my entrance, slowly sliding it about half an inch of the way in and then out again. He repeats this process a couple of times, slyly watching my face for a reaction. I sigh and buck my hips impatiently. 'Stop teasing me, asshole!'

Cartman chuckles as he suddenly thrusts forward violently, burying himself deep inside of me. I yelp my approval and rake his back vigorously with my fingernails. Cartman moans into my mouth as he kisses me again, gazing into my eyes as he starts to built up the pace and force of his thrusts.

'God Kyle, I love...being with you...like this,' he pants.

Wow. And I always thought that Cartman didn't love anything. Moving my hips to match the rhythm of Cartman's thrusts, I lay back to enjoy the sounds of his throaty moaning and my damp skin smacking against his.

'Me too,' I whisper breathlessly.

It isn't long before I feel that familiar wonderful feeling building in the pit of my stomach. My fingernails dig into Cartman's shoulders as I let out a blissful cry. Growling in response, Cartman's lips lock on mine as I clamp down on his cock and we both orgasm at the same time. It's so much better when that happens – it makes the experience just that little bit more special.

We continue to kiss passionately long after our climaxes are over. Both of our cocks have softened and splashes of my cum coat both of our stomachs. But that seems irrelevant. I wrap my arms around Cartman tightly, keeping his body pressed to mine as our tongues feverishly continue to do battle. My heart feels like it's about to explode – everything just feels so...perfect right now.

We reluctantly stop kissing and I feel disappointed as Cartman rolls off me. This feeling is short lived when he pulls me into his arms. I curl my body against his, leaning my head on his shoulder like when we were watching the movie earlier. I feel really comfortable like this. Something's definitely changed between us. I don't know what exactly, but I'm glad that it has. Being with Cartman like this makes me feel so...reassured? Like everything's gonna be alright. I can hardly believe I'm saying something like that about someone who's such a racist psychotic asshole. That reminds me...

'Cartman?'

'Mmm?'

'I'm sorry for making that joke about the vet earlier. And for the crack about giving you therapy. It was totally insensitive. I feel like an asshole.'

Cartman snorts. 'I'm King Asshole of Insensitivity, Jew. Your little jokes didn't bother me. In fact, they were actually pretty funny.'

He sniggers, tightening his arms around me. Well, good - as long as he's not bothered by what I said, everything's cool. I nuzzle into him and soon feel my eyes drifting shut. It's so much easier to sleep when I'm with Cartman. His bed is so comfortable and warm, and I guess it feels good to know that he's there beside me.

So very good.

So reassuring...

* * * * *

I don't think I've been asleep for long before I'm woken by Cartman moving off the bed. I assume he needs the bathroom, but he doesn't even get as far as the door. Instead, he starts shuffling around his room, opening drawers and moving things around like he's looking for something. I'd offer to help, but I'm too comfortable so I'm just gonna close my eyes and pretend I'm sleeping. Just as I feel myself falling asleep again, I hear Cartman talking quietly.

'Ah, Clyde Frog!'

Huh? Oh, that little stuffed frog thing. He still has that? I can't remember seeing it around. I seem to remember it meant a lot to him, so he must hide it. I think the last time I saw it was when I was nine, and I was stitching its head back on having torn it off in a Cartman-induced rage. Cartman gave me HIV, and I actually felt bad enough for ripping his stupid toy's head off in retaliation that I fixed it for him. How much of a sentimental fool am I? I guess it was the least I could do for breaking his X-Box though.

'Sure, we can talk about my day. But we'll have to be quiet so that we don't wake Kyle.'

No fucking way does he still talk to that thing! I can't believe I'm screwing someone who talks to stuffed animals! Though I guess it's pretty much the same as talking to yourself, and I do that all the time. It's probably much easier to discuss your feelings with something that can't respond or judge you. Especially for a person like Cartman.

'Well, Mr Kitty died today,' he whispers to his little friend. 'And I was the only one who seemed to care, really. Except for Kyle, that is. Having him here has made it so much easier. He always makes me feel better, even if he doesn't mean to.'

...I do? I suppose the fact that I'm here tonight would indicate that I feel something similar, but I'm still pretty surprised. I would never have guessed that Cartman got any pleasure from my company that wasn't sexual, since I'm apparently such an annoying little Jew and all.

'Look at him laying there...so peaceful. Nothing like the annoying little Jew that plagues my life when he's awake.'

I nearly laugh at this but I force myself not to, especially since he's apparently watching me 'sleep'. I can't let him know that I'm awake – he'd probably be really embarrassed if he knew I was listening to him talk to a toy. I'm not sure why I care that he'd be embarrassed, but still... Suddenly, Cartman lets out an indignant snort.

'What? Of course not, dumbass! I don't feel that way anymore...No, I don't! I can't...'

That was weird. I wish I knew what Clyde Frog asked him to cause that outburst. I listen intently as Cartman sighs and starts whispering softly to his toy again.

'He doesn't want it that way. He's happy with the way things are...Sure, I am too! I get to touch him, and kiss him. We do all sorts of awesome stuff together, stuff that he doesn't want to do with anyone else. That's more than I ever could have hoped for.'

More than he could have hoped for? What the hell is he talking about? I lay there in the silence, waiting for another clue as to what is going on in Cartman's head. I feel the mattress dip beside me as Cartman slowly gets back onto the bed. My heart pounds loudly in my chest as he starts stroking my hair gently.

'How can I ask for more...and risk losing what I already have?'

I feel him lean forward and his lips brush against mine. He then settles down under the covers beside me, his arm sliding around my waist and pulling me close to him.

'G'night, Clyde Frog. It was nice to hear from you,' he murmurs.

I wish I'd heard from Clyde Frog too.

At least then I would know what in the hell all that was about.

* * * * *

_Aha! A confession! Of sorts...I was so concerned with keeping Cartman in character that I must have redrafted the conversation with Clyde Frog about twelve times before I was happy with it. I'm going to go more into how Kyle's feeling about what he just heard in the next chapter. This chapter is long enough as it is without little Mr Broflovski going off on one of his rants._

_I've actually been working on the next chapter while I've been working on this one, so hopefully it shouldn't take very long to finish off. I'll try have it up for Christmas – it'll make a nice little pressie from me to you, dear readers. Thanks for reading! Please review if the mood takes you._

_DD_

_XX_

_PS: Oh my God, I killed Mr Kitty! I'm a bastard!_


	11. Real

_Author Notes: A belated Merry Christmas to one and all! Many thanks to the reviewers and readers of the last chapter. And now for the moment you've all been waiting for – I assume. Enjoy!_

**Chapter 11 - Real**

'_...I don't feel that way anymore...he doesn't want it that way...more than I ever could have hoped for...risk losing what I already have...'_

...Goddamn it, Cartman...

I hardly slept a wink as I tried to solve this conundrum he's given me, but I still can't get to grips with it. All clues are pointing to one answer, but my brain refuses to accept this answer. If I'd heard those words from anyone else, maybe the conclusion I've come to would be a possibility. But this is Cartman we're talking about here – he can't have meant it **that** way. But if not, what way **did** he mean it?

I sigh, turning my blank gaze away from the ceiling above me to the guy snoring softly beside me. I remember what a pleasant surprise it was to me to find that Cartman doesn't snore loudly. He looks like the kind of person who would snore the fucking roof off, but you can barely hear him. It's more like just loud breathing, not at all what I expected. I guess he's just full of surprises.

He doesn't hog the sheets either...

Damn it! I can't concentrate with him so close to me. I silently climb out of bed and slip my clothes on. Cartman's alarm clock says it 6:07am. Fucking early, but that's a good thing. I wanna get home to take my insulin before my mom wakes up. I quickly scribble a note to that effect and drop it on the pillow next to him. Being diabetic comes in useful sometimes – it's the perfect excuse for bailing out before he wakes up. I need to get my thoughts straight before I speak to him again.

I silently creep downstairs and out of the door. The porch light is still on from where Cartman left it on for his mom. I guess she isn't home yet. As soon as I'm outside and have closed the door behind me, I dash in the direction of my house. I'm not sure why I'm running – maybe to stop my brain thinking over Cartman's words for the time being. When I reach my front door, I give myself a few seconds to get my breath back before entering. Nobody is awake yet, but it coming up to 6.30am so I'd better get the lead out. I hurry into the kitchen and inject my insulin. Mom will see that my morning dose has gone, so hopefully she won't send out a search party when she realises I'm not home.

I faintly hear my dad's alarm clock going off upstairs. Shit! I sprint back to the front door, grabbing my school bag from the hanger as I pass it. I slow my pace only to close the door silently behind me, then race down the path and up the street towards town.

I stop running as soon as my house is out of sight. My god, I'm so fucking tired. I'm gonna need something to wake me up if I'm gonna solve my Cartman mystery, so I head to Harbucks. It's probably the only place open this time of day anyway. I say hi Mr Tweek and he gives me my usual – a skinny cappuccino, wet, no sugar. I pick a booth to sit in and take a long sip from my drink. It burns my tongue, but I'm too exhausted to give a shit right now. I pull a notebook and pencil out from my school bag and write down the words that keep echoing in my mind, as if doing so will somehow get them to make sense:

'_How can I ask for more and risk losing what I already have?'_

Now let's try to think about this logically. 'Ask for more'...

More from our relationship? Maybe he wants us to go on a date or something...

I consider this thought for a moment and burst out laughing, earning myself a few odd looks from Mr Tweek and the other early risers that are in here. Yeah, right! Cartman would have to actually **like** me to want to date me, and as if Cartman would have feelings for **me** of all people! He fucking hates me! I'm the no-good sneaky Jew rat that plagues his life. He could never feel any sort of affection for me! I mean, he **acts** affectionately towards me at times, but that's just to keep me interested in fucking him. Like when he strokes my hair and cuddles me after sex.

_Or like when he sends me messages to warn me about dangerous weather conditions, and reminds me of goofy shit from our childhood to cheer me up. Like when he kisses my lips so tenderly while he thinks I'm sleeping..._

But he's only does that because he's so...I don't know why. But it just can't be because he has feelings for me! That's just not something Cartman is capable of having.

'Ask for more'...

Perhaps he just wants to ask me to do something really fucked up sexually, like let him poop on me or dress me up in striped pyjamas while he wears a Hitler costume or something. I'd definitely say no to that – I might be kinky, but the line has to be drawn somewhere. I'd probably kick him in the balls for asking, but he definitely wouldn't lose what he already has with me over it. Maybe that's not it then...

'Ask for more'...

Okay, let's just say for the sake of argument that Cartman **does** have feelings for me. How would that matter as far as my own feelings go? Last time I checked, Cartman was nothing more to me than an anti-Semitic asshole that just happened to be the remedy to all my sexual frustrations and fantasies. So from my point of view, what's changed exactly?

A lot, I guess is the simple answer. I never used to look forward to spending time with Cartman – but lately I just can't get enough. I never used to care about what he wanted or what he was doing – now, everything he does seems so interesting and important to me. And he never used to make me feel anything but anger and frustration – but now he makes me feel so much more...

I need to stop thinking like this. What if I'm totally barking up the wrong tree here? I don't want to start thinking about the feelings I might have for Cartman to discover that he doesn't actually have any for me after all. Then it'll be **me** running the risk of losing what we have.

The pencil in my hand snaps in my grip. This is so fucking confusing! He's probably done this on purpose to piss me off! There's a good chance that he knew I was awake all along and deliberately made me overhear him saying something cryptic to drive me nuts. I bet he's sitting at home laughing his ass off right now at the thought of me tearing my hair out, trying to comprehend what he said. It's a likely theory, but I don't want it to be the right one.

It just can't be...

It's no use. I can't just sit on ass all day guessing at what Cartman's thinking. I'm never going to find the answer inside my own head.

I'm just gonna have to ask him.

* * * * *

Three cappuccinos later, I sent Cartman a text message asking him to meeting me in our clearing behind the school. We'd been there a couple of times since skipping class that time, so I could find it quite easily on my own now. I arrive early to have one last think over what I want to say to him. We're both so stubborn and fiery at times that one wrong word could easily be the death knell of this thing that we have.

I glance at my watch – any second now – then look up at the dense cluster of trees surrounding me. Whenever we come here, I always feel as if we're the only two people left in the world. I think we'll both appreciate that level of privacy for the conversation we're about to have.

I hear the crunch of frosted leaves behind me and turn to see Cartman approaching. He looks inconceivably handsome as usual, even though he's grinning like a complete cocky asshole.

'Another day with me, Jew? Starting to get a little obsessed, aren't we?'

He tries to touch me but I step back from him. I'm not quite sure why.

'I just wanna talk to you.'

Cartman frowns. He looks a little concerned.

'Okay, shoot.'

I open my mouth to speak, but find that I can't. All of the thoughts that I had so carefully rehearsed in my head have just disappeared in an instant. Cartman stares at me questioningly, looking more uneasy with each passing second as I just stand there looking stupid.

'I was awake last night while you were talking to Clyde Frog.'

Fuck! I can't believe I just cut right to the chase like that! I'm usually so eloquent – why do I pick today of all days to be an inarticulate retard? Cartman looks like a deer caught in headlights. He makes a quick recovery, concealing his panic with a forced neutral expression, but he's already made it clear from his initial reaction that he's completely mortified. I hold my hands up reassuringly. He probably thinks I'm angry or something – a perfectly understandable assumption.

'I was just wondering what were you talking about when you said you didn't want to risk what we had by asking for more.'

This doesn't seem to do much to reassure him. I watch as Cartman's Adam's apple convulses in his throat and his eyes dart from left to right, as if seeking out an exit from this situation. Suddenly, he looks back at me, forcing out a loud condescending laugh.

'What the hell are you talking about, Jew?'

My mouth drops open. He's denying it? I don't know why I'm surprised. It's such a Cartman thing of him to do. I cross my arms over my chest, glaring at him as he pastes a feigned expression of confusion across his face.

'You said it as you were stroking my hair, right before you kissed me. After you kissed me, you said goodnight to Clyde Frog and went to sleep. Sound familiar?'

I hate to be so matter-of-fact about this, but he's not getting off that easily. The lying bastard strokes his chin, eyes cast upwards as he pretends to think.

'Not really. I'm a little old to still be talking to stuffed animals, don't ya think? You must have dreamt it.'

'Dreamt it?' That patronising son of a bitch! 'I was wide awake, Cartman! I heard you!'

He flinches slightly at my annoyed tone, and I can see the anxiety starting to build in his eyes as he speaks through gritted teeth. 'You couldn't have heard me, Kyle.'

'Really? Because I'm not fucking deaf, so why not?'

'Because I didn't fucking say anything, that's why not!'

It's my turn to flinch when he yells back, defiantly stamping his foot like the child that he is. Jesus Christ, did I honestly consider whether I could have real feelings for this person – this fucking immature idiot that can't admit to the truth even when he's been caught red handed? I don't know what I was thinking! I turn my back on him and start to walk towards the gap in the trees. Cartman grabs me roughly from behind, spinning me back around to look at him with a feral snarl.

'Where the fuck do you think you're going?'

I shake free from his hands, glaring at him with all the venom I can muster. It seems to take him by surprise – it's been a while since I've looked at him in such a way. Or spoken to him with such genuine fury in my voice.

'I want an explanation, Cartman. I know what I heard. And you're trying to make out like I imagined it? After all we've been through, you can't even be honest with me about this one fucking thing?'

My voice cracks. It feels like my heart is lodged in my throat. Cartman still looks stunned, and perhaps a little sad. That makes two of us then – I feel fucking miserable.

'I'm done,' I say quietly. 'Find someone else to play your head games with.'

I don't look at his face as I turn away and hastily try to make my way through the trees. Fuck – I thought I knew this path quite well by now, but I feel totally disorientated all of a sudden. It's not helped by the fact that I'm almost blinded by an onset of tears. Or that Cartman is shouting after me.

'Kyle? Kyle, wait! Wait, you asshole!'

His hands are on me again and I'm dragged back into the clearing by the collar of my coat. I can't tell if I trip over my own feet or Cartman's, but I end up on the ground on my ass. I look up at Cartman, and the expression of desperation on his face almost frightens me. He stares down at me for what feels like forever before offering his hand to me. I seriously consider refusing and getting up by myself, but I swallow my pride for a change and clutch his soft fingers into my palm. He pulls me to my feet as easily as if he was lifting a sack of feathers. He won't let go of my hand - it's as if he's afraid I might run off again. When I yank my hand away and fold my arms over my chest defensively, Cartman sighs and suddenly finds his shoes very interesting.

'Look, I'll explain. Just...don't leave.'

There's a pleading quality to his voice that I can't possibly refuse. I wait patiently as he gathers himself together as best he can, shuffling his feet back and forth and deciding which direction he feels most comfortable looking in. As usual in this type of situation, it's anywhere but at me. He settles for a nearby tree and begins.

'Look, if you really want me to be honest, I...what I said was, I...honestly...it means...what it sounds like, okay? As in, ideally, I'd want you to...us to be...It's just...I like...having you around, I guess...'

I don't know whether to laugh or cry. It's such a disturbing display - I've never seen Cartman like this before. He's stammering and fumbling like he's Hugh fucking Grant or something. But I should probably be paying less attention to how he's saying it and more attention to what he's saying. He continues, more fluently now.

'And it's not just 'cause you're a fucking dynamo in the sack either. I know it sounds gay but whenever I'm with you...life just doesn't feel as crappy anymore.'

Dude...

I mean, I know I suspected it to be true, but I still can't believe what I'm hearing. Eric Cartman is saying that after all these years of hatred and anti-Semitism, he actually gets...'happy feelings' from the 'Jew rat'? Unbelievable...

I notice Cartman sneaking quick glances at my face, trying to fathom my reaction. I'm not sure how to react. How would anyone react to a confession like that from Cartman? He nearly jumps a mile high when I suddenly speak.

'How long have you felt like this?'

He cringes visibly. 'Honestly?'

I nod, and he inhales deeply before answering.

'Fourteen.'

Huh?

'Fourteen? What do you mean, fourteen? Fourteen what?'

He sighs impatiently, delivering his answer at such high speed that the whole sentence sounds like one big word.

'Fourteen as in **since** **we were** fourteen, possibly longer, that's just when I actually realised it.'

No fucking way! That can't be true! Not when I count all of the times he's hurt me or lied to me or kicked me when I've been down over the last two years. Not to mention all the other times he's done it for the ten years prior to that! He's looking a little nervous now, probably because I'm standing here staring at him, slack jawed and wide eyed like a dead fucking goldfish. I should probably say something.

'Cartman...that's two years.'

Yeah, Jews are good with numbers...Good one Kyle, you fucking idiot. Cartman meets my gaze, his lovely brown eyes smouldering with frustration.

'Yeah, I know! I fucking counted them, asshole!'

I scowl. What the fuck is his problem? What right does he have to get angry at me? I should be the one getting angry – I'm the one who's been lied to for the past two years! Before I can begin to articulate these thoughts, the PMS-ing fatass continues ranting.

'And it's your own goddamn fault anyway, you stupid Jew!'

What?

'You're the one who went and cut off your dumb ginger Jewfro!'

This is insane! 'What the hell does that have to do with anything?'

'Because it made me see how beautif-'

Cartman stops himself mid-sentence, pursing his lips together tightly. He eyes the ground again, massaging his temples slowly with both hands. This is possibly the most fucked up conversation I've ever had. Was he just about to call me 'beautiful' there? Cartman thinks I'm beautiful? I don't believe this. I just don't understand it.

After about twenty seconds of silence, I'm about to open my mouth to say probably yet another stupid thing when Cartman suddenly lunges forward and claims my mouth with his. He expertly takes advantage of my surprise, his tongue parting my lips and coaxing mine into their usual merry dance. I moan softly, my eyelids fluttering shut and my hands slowly find their way into Cartman's hair. I feel his arms around my waist and he pulls me close, kissing me like it's the last time he's ever going to get the chance to. He probably thinks it is.

The kiss ends as abruptly as it began, and Cartman steps away from me. I feel a chill up my spine at the loss of the heat of his body so close to mine. He cocks his head to one side and looks at me strangely, a tiny wistful smile tugging at his lips. His voice is so calm and even when he finally speaks.

'You want honesty? Fine. You know, there was a time when all I ever used to see when I looked at you was someone I hated - an annoying little ginger Jew in a stupid green hat. Everything was so simple back then. But after you ditched the hat and you got that rat's nest cut away from your face, all I could see was a surprisingly annoyingly hot little Jew that I still hated, but couldn't seem to tear my eyes away from.'

He cautiously steps towards me again, stroking my neck with his fingertips as he straightens out my coat collar from where he tugged it out of place before. I swallow deeply, my throat dry as dust as I study his face. The eerie look in his eyes and his melancholy smile are constant as he continues.

'The more I watched you, the less annoying you became to me. And then I realised...I didn't hate you so much anymore.'

My god...

After so many years of putting up with and observing his crap, I can generally tell when Cartman is bullshitting. And I really don't think that he is this time. His voice sounds so...un-Cartman-like. Every word he said sounded as if it was being torn straight from the bottom of his heart. I bet talking to me like this is the hardest thing he's ever had to do. His face has gone a reddish-purple colour and he actually looks, dare I say, frightened? He clears his throat and shrugs, trying to look nonchalant.

'It's not a big deal though,' he says, so quietly. 'I've had two whole years to get over it and come to terms with the fact that you'll never be interested in me like that. I mean, why would you be? You've always hated me, right? But when the opportunity to screw you came up, I just couldn't resist. Screwing you isn't quite the same as being with you, but it brought me close enough...'

He bites his lip and turns his face away, sighing like it's the last breath he'll ever take.

'So there's your explanation, Jew boy. That's the state of play. I understand if you want to call this thing off now. It had to happen sometime anyway - it's not like it could have lasted forever.'

As if admitting defeat, he takes a big awkward step back away from me. I feel a jolt of disappointment and my body automatically inclines forward, as if craving his body heat. At this point I realise that I'm not even cold – I just want to be near him.

And not for the first time it would seem, as I think of how he used to invade my thoughts and how much I used to crave his touch before we had even been with each other. I think of the first time that we were together, and how comfortable and strangely appropriate it felt to be touching each other like that.

I think of all of the stolen moments we've ever had together and how exciting they were. I think of the warning he gave me about the black ice that morning, and of the apology he gave me at Stan's sleepover for upsetting me. I think of the look on his face when I told him I didn't want to share him anymore, and of every kiss we've ever shared that didn't end up leading to sex.

I think of yesterday's visit to his house when I needed a friend, of last night's kiss that we shared after we climaxed together and how perfectly amazing it felt. And I think of my very favourite place to be – curled up in his arms, our bodies pressed together and our hearts beating as one. All of this has to mean something, even if I don't know what it is just yet.

There's still the issue of trust though – is Cartman really telling me the truth here? Does he really feel something for me? My brain is reminding me of all the times he's screwed me over in the past, but my heart is screaming at me that this time, he's genuine. His words from our first night together echo in my head:

'_You see, Kyle. You can trust me. I'll never hurt you...unless you want me to.'_

I've made my decision. Trusting Cartman may be a risk. But just like the one he just took by telling me the truth, it'll be a risk worth taking.

'Hey...you wanna go see a movie?'

Cartman's head snaps up. He frowns, bewildered, eyeing me like I've got three heads.

'Err...what?'

I shrug. 'You like 'The Exorcist', right? I think they're showing the director's cut at the mall. You wanna go? It's NC-17, but I think we'll get in...'

Judging by how his facial expression has shifted, I've just sprouted a fourth head. I guess I'm being a little too cryptic.

'You know, like a date?'

He blinks rapidly for a few second. 'A date?'

God, I suck at communicating today. I sigh and step towards him slowly. He looks very wary of me, like he wants to run away. I'm not used to seeing him this vulnerable – it makes me feel strangely protective over him. I place my hands on his shoulders, massaging gently. He stands totally still and silent, arms by his side, his expectant eyes trained on mine.

'Look Cartman...I'm so confused by all this that I honestly don't know what I'm feeling right now. What I do know is that I...definitely don't hate you. And I'm still super hot for you.'

This seems to snap him out of his stupor and he grins at me like a maniac. God, I love that smile. I can't resist leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to his lips before finishing my proposal.

'I don't know exactly what's happening between us, but something about it just feels right. So I'm thinking that maybe we should...attach a few more strings and see what happens?'

His smug expression disappears, transforming into one of disbelief. He looks absolutely stunned, and kind of scared. He stares at me for so long and in such a way that I blush and have to look away. I wish I could tell what he's thinking, but I can't. His eyes are telling me that he's ecstatically happy, but the rest of his face doesn't match up to this. His mouth twists into a crooked frown, and his eyebrows arch suspiciously.

'You're...seriously?'

I smile gently. 'Yes, I'm seriously.'

Cartman stares at me a moment longer, carefully studying every inch of my face. He had this same doubtful look on his face the night I seduced him on his couch, right before we kissed for the first time. Hopefully, the outcome will be the same.

Oh please God, Moses, Abraham - let the outcome be the same.

Please trust me, Cartman. Give me a chance...

My prayers are answers as strong familiar arms snake around my waist and Cartman pulls me close.

'Awesome,' he whispers.

This single word scarcely has a chance to make it to my ears before Cartman's lips are on mine again. This time when he kisses me, there's no tongue or even that much pressure applied, yet the passion is overwhelming. He's never kissed me like this before, firmly yet gently taming my lips into succumbing to his. It's almost like it's not him kissing me, but I know it definitely is. I'd know these amazing lips anywhere.

He eventually pulls back to look at me and smiles. Not his usual cocky smile though, a genuine smile. He looks really happy. My heart thunders as his forehead presses against mine. It's just so strange to see him like this, to have him act like this towards me. It's good though – I could definitely get used to this. He sighs contentedly as he fondly toys with my hair.

'But I'm not going on a date with you,' he says softly. 'Dates are for fags.'

I laugh – now that sounds more like the Cartman I know!

_My Cartman..._

'Okay then, how about we go back to your place, light some candles and fuck until the sun comes up instead?'

The cocky grin returns with a vengeance as Cartman turns to leave the clearing, dragging me along behind him by my arm.

'Sounds good to me, Jew. Except for the candles. Candles are for fags.'

* * * * *

_Ta-da! _

_Well, it's not quite 'I love you' yet, but I at least hope that it made wading through the previous ten chapters worth it for all of you romantics!_

_To all of you smut lovers, fear not. Now that the slushy-mushiness is out of the way, I plan for the filth to make a comeback in chapter twelve. In fact, I have something very special planned for our boys so that they can celebrate the newest level of their relationship in the tastiest possible way. I can't wait to write it, so I'll hopefully be able to update soon!_

_Thanks for reading! Do review if you can._

_DD_

_XX_


	12. Delicious

_Author Notes: Thanks for all readers and reviewers for the last chapter, as that was the chapter I was most concerned about getting right. Special thanks to those reviewers who said that chapter 11 was their best Christmas present – that was really sweet and made me smile. Chapter 12 is dedicated to you guys. Enjoy!_

**Chapter 12 – Delicious**

The journey back to Cartman's place was pretty uneventful. We didn't do the usual couple thing of holding hands as we walked, although the stupid asshole teasingly asked me if I wanted to. I replied by kicking him in the shin and running off ahead. He caught me pretty quickly, dragging me into the alleyway behind City Wok and slamming me up against the wall. He smiled evilly, giving the bulge in my jeans a rough squeeze and muttering that I was a stupid Jew a second before his tongue disappeared down my throat. We made out for as long as we could stand the smell of discarded Chinese food for and then hastily continued on our way.

Cartman's mom was home when we got there and greeted us cheerfully. I gladly returned the gesture – Liane is a lovely woman, despite being a total slut. I think I'm the only one of Cartman's friends that she doesn't flirt with, and I'm very thankful for that. It's hilarious to watch Stan squirm whenever she starts making eyes at him, and Kenny openly flirts back which usually results in Cartman kicking him in the balls. Even Butters has been on the receiving end of her double entendres on a few occasions – though of course he's far too naive to understand them. But I've personally never had the, erm...pleasure of her attention. I guess she just doesn't have the same taste in men as her son.

Oddly, Cartman barely even seemed to acknowledge his mom. In fact he looked rather frustrated to see her – probably because her sudden reappearance foiled his plans to violate his newfound boyfriend. He invited me to use the shower, which I happily accepted since I hadn't had one since yesterday morning. So here I am enjoying the hot flowing water cascading down my back. I'm kinda disappointed that Cartman didn't offer to join me, but I guess we've got all day to play those sorts of games. Maybe he just wanted me out of the way so that he can talk to his mom privately or something.

Once I've towelled off, I slip back into my jeans and t-shirt. They don't smell too awful, and so should see me through until the end of the day. I glance in the mirror and run my tongue over my teeth – they feel a little fuzzy. I haven't brushed them since yesterday. How gross - I can't believe I let Cartman kiss me with my mouth like this! I wish I had a...wait a second. I almost forgot that Cartman kept aside the toothbrush I used on our first night together. Yep, there it is, in the holder right next to his. I fish it out to find that he's taken the liberty of letting everyone know it's mine by marking the handle in permanent marker:

'BEWEAR! JOO JERMZ!'

I roll my eyes. Stupid hypocritical anti-Semitic asshole! If he was that bothered about Jew germs, I doubt he'd be so eager to gulp down my bodily fluids the way he does. Still, it's sort of cute that I've got my own toothbrush at my...boyfriend's place.

I smile to myself. Eric Cartman is my boyfriend.

I make my way back downstairs to find that Liane has disappeared again. I hear plates clattering and follow the sound into the kitchen. Cartman has actually made us both some lunch while I showered, which is abnormally decent of him. The cynic in me momentarily wonders whether he's poisoned it. Anyway, it's some sort of vegetarian pasta dish, and poisoned or not it tastes great. That's one thing I'll freely admit that Cartman can do better than me - cook. I'm fucking useless at cooking. I can't even get toast right, unless charred lumps of bread are to your liking. In my defence, I've never been able to practice – my mom is one of those women that don't believe men should have to do anything in the kitchen.

We sit on the living room couch in relative silence eating our lunch. It's a comfortable silence though. Cartman always gives his food his full concentration when he's eating, and I personally don't feel the need to fill the void with mindless chatter. Instead I just silently observe Cartman. Something about him seems different – he doesn't look as tense as he usually does. I suppose he has just relieved a pretty hefty weight from his chest – I'd probably feel more relaxed if I had just confessed two years' worth of pent up desire too.

We're both nearly finished when Cartman sets his plate down on the coffee table in front of us.

'So, what do you actually see in me anyway?'

I nearly choke swallowing a mouthful of food, surprised by his abrupt question.

'Huh?'

He smirks and settles back against the couch cushions.

'What specifically do you like about me enough to make you want to...attach more strings? Other than the fact that I'm smoking hot and make you cum like a little Jewish geyser, I mean.'

I deliberately ignore his egoism as I rack my brains. He poses a good question. I set my plate down and stare at my hands thoughtfully.

'Err...I dunno.'

It's an honest answer. I glance over at him. He looks annoyed. 'Well there's gotta be something, Jew!'

'I thinking, fatass!' I snap, matching his tone.

He rolls his eyes, folding his arms across his chest as he impatiently awaits my answer. I better make it a good one. I've never really thought about it before though. What **do** I like about Cartman?

'...I guess you can be...nice...occasionally.'

'Really? When, exactly?'

'Well...when you're not being a bigoted racist son of a bitch...'

He snorts in response. Why is he so defensive about the fact that I like him anyway? Why can't he just accept it? Is his self esteem really that low? I throw my hands up in the air in defeat.

'You're right. Who am I kidding? You're a complete asshole.'

He gives me a surprised look as I reach over and squeeze his knee.

'But I wouldn't have it any other way. I guess I'm just...bound to you, connected to you in some way. Even though we've always said that we aren't really friends and that we hate each other, and despite all the shitty things we've done to one another, something keeps us together. We just have a very...unique relationship.'

He grins. 'So I've noticed.'

'Is that a good enough reason then?' My eyebrow arches. 'Or were you hoping for more of an ego stroke?'

'Nah, your faggy 'deep spiritual connection' reason will do just fine. And I don't need you to stroke my ego. Not when your true talents lie in stroking...other things.'

I roll my eyes. 'Prick.'

'Exactly.' Fuck! Walked right into that one, didn't I? I punch his shoulder lightly as he sniggers at me. 'In any case, I'd say I've been pretty good with holding back on the racism lately. I've even boycotted the K word for you, remember?'

I nod, smiling slightly. 'You still call me 'Jew' all the time though.'

'You **are** a Jew.'

'Yeah, but you usually say it as part of an invective.'

'I couldn't possibly.'

'How come?'

'Because I haven't a fucking clue what that means.'

I sigh. Dumbass. 'It means you usually say it when you're being an asshole to me. Therefore, you mean it as an insult.'

'It's just a pet name.'

Is he serious? 'Considering our history, do you really think that 'Jew' is an appropriate pet name for me?'

'Would you prefer 'my little spooge dumpster' instead?'

Let me think about that for a second... ''Jew' is fine.'

Cartman lets out a short laugh of triumph as I snuggle into the couch. My eyelids start feeling heavy as I remember how very little sleep I got last night. I blink vigorously a couple of times to shake the tiredness and turn to Cartman, who's watching me intently from the other end of the couch.

'So how come you like **me** anyway? Other than the fact that my hair rocks and I give good head?'

'Well, I guess you're kinda cool,' he smirks. 'For a Jew.'

I roll my eyes. Thought so. 'I appreciate that, Cartman. Or should I be calling you Eric?'

'Why would you?'

'Well, I'm your...boyfriend now, aren't I? Shouldn't I call you by your first name?'

I notice that he smiles when I refer to myself as his boyfriend, but other than that he looks totally unaffected by my question. 'You've always called me Cartman. Why break the habit of a lifetime?'

That's true enough. I've never called him Eric in the twelve years that we've known each other. I sigh as Eri-, I mean Cartman puts his arm around me, pulls me into him and kisses my hair. I'm quite taken aback by this show of affection and look up at him questioningly. His intense brown eyes seem to soften as they observe my face.

'But I guess...you can try calling me Eric, if you really want to.'

His voice is so gentle. I'm suddenly torn between whether I like this Cartman better than dominant asshole Cartman.

'Nah, I just said it in my head and it sounds weird,' I laughing lightly. 'It's pretty fucked up that I can't even refer to my boyfriend by his first name.'

He chuckles. 'I guess it is kinda. Especially if we get to be like twenty years married and you're still calling me by my surname.'

Woah, wait a second! Hold the fucking phone - twenty years **what**? I grin at him teasingly, eyebrow cocked. 'Is that a proposal?'

He gives me a confused look as he rethinks what he's just said. Suddenly all of the colour drains from his face.

'Erm...that's not what I, er...'

Priceless! He looks so flustered that I just have to burst out laughing. He tries to wave it off, but if he thinks I'm not ripping on him for this, he's got another thing coming. 'Just promise that you'll let me pick out the china patterns. You have really bad taste!'

He frowns at me. 'Damn straight I do! I like **you**, don't I? Asshole!'

His putdown just makes me laugh harder. I nuzzle my face into his neck, gripping onto his shoulders for support. 'Dude, I can't believe you just said the 'M' word!'

'Hey, fuck you Kyle! It was an innocent slip of the tongue!'

He sounds annoyed, but the gentle hand stroking my back tells me that he's not. I look up at him, trying my best not to laugh but finding it very hard when I see how red his face is.

'It's cool, Cartman. I've already resigned myself to the fact that we're probably going to be stuck with each other for the rest of our lives anyway. Might as well make it official at some point.'

I honestly can't believe I just fucking said that, but it seems to do the trick. Cartman gradually stops looking so embarrassed and smiles. I kiss him lightly and his arms tighten around me as he deepens it. I'm surprised at how naturally we're taking to this whole 'strings attached' relationship. Part of me thought it would be at least a little awkward, but it's not. It just...works. We part after a few seconds and I scoot back across to my side of the couch. Cartman looks at me thoughtfully then laughs.

'You'd better take my last name if we do. I'm not having a Jew name.'

I crinkle my nose at this. 'I don't wanna be 'Kyle Cartman', dude. That just sounds weird. Especially if I'm still calling **you** Cartman when we're twenty years married.' I wink at him, smirking playfully. I'm pretty sure I hear him growl in annoyance. 'I think my lovely Jewish surname would really suit you. I mean, 'Eric Broflovski'? Sounds great, don't you think?'

'Suck my balls, Kyle. Marriage is for fags anyway.'

I snigger as I tilt my head to one side, pressing my lips together in a mock pout. 'Aw, so you don't wanna marry me no more?' Cartman flips me off pointedly. I laugh again. Teasing Cartman is fun when he's not hurling racial abuse at me in response. 'It's probably just as well. I'd make a lousy wife anyway. I can't even cook.'

Cartman looks appalled. 'What d'ya mean, you can't cook? It's like the easiest thing in the world to do.'

My cheeks glow red at his derisive tone. 'It is not! I can never use the right amount of salt and not burning stuff is really hard.'

He clucks his tongue in an exaggerated manner. 'Well, this just won't do. If I'm gonna be chaining you to our kitchen sink at some point in the future, you'd better be able to make a damn good pie, bitch.'

My blood boils slightly at this. I know he's probably joking – he'd better be anyway – but why do I have to be the girl in this relationship? I may be the sexual bottom, but he's the one with the history of crossdressing and playing with dollies. Before I can voice my opinion, he cuts me off.

'In fact, I propose a little cookery lesson. Right now.'

'Cookery lesson?'

'You wanna make a good wife for me, don't you?'

I frown and open my mouth to respond in the negative, but he's too quick for me again.

'Then get your sexy ass upstairs and wait for me on my bed.'

On his bed? ...Oh, I get it now – he wants to play. In that case, I'm game. I obediently climb the stairs as Cartman disappears into the kitchen with a demented smile on his face. I have no idea what he has planned, but I can't wait to find out. I flop down on Cartman's bed and only have to wait for a couple of minutes before Cartman enters the room naked. He's totally naked, carrying a picnic basket in one hand and a bucket of ice in the other. He sets the basket and bucket down on the bedside table and grins at me as he makes his naked self comfortable on the edge of the bed.

Did I mention that he was naked already?

'Are you ready for your lesson, Kyle?'

I can already tell that this is gonna be fun. 'Sure.'

'Super. To start with, you need the proper attire. So...strip.'

He gestures to the bedroom floor, and I gladly slide off the bed to stand in front of him. We lock eyes as I make a big show of slowly unzipping my coat and allowing it to slide from my shoulders to the floor. I'm standing here in a simple t-shirt and jeans, and Cartman is already looking at me like he wants to eat me alive. His fingers twitch slightly – I want him to touch me so badly. I tug at the hem of my t-shirt, pulling the material up over my head. I groan and struggle a little, pretending that I've got stuck in the t-shirt. Cartman's laughter tells me that he's noticed, so I continue to fake struggle until I feel his hands on my waist, pulling me over to him so that he can untangle me.

When I'm free, he tosses my t-shirt over by my coat, openly admiring my bare torso. He gestures to my jeans and I leisurely unfasten them and push them down my legs. I didn't bother putting my underwear back on after my shower, and Cartman seems to appreciate this as he takes in the sight of my naked form. I step out of my jeans and kick them across the room, patiently awaiting Cartman's further instruction. With a delighted smile, he reaches into the picnic basket and tosses me a mound of baby-pink material.

'Your uniform,' he explains.

I unravel the garment and hold it up in front of my face – it's a small frilly apron. I glance over at Cartman. 'Are you serious?'

He shrugs. 'You can't have a cookery lesson if you don't wear an apron, Kyle.'

'Why aren't you wearing one then?'

'I don't have the legs for it.'

I look back at the garment in my hand. I really truly fucking hate pink, and Cartman knows it. I think a little rebellion is in order.

'I'm not wearing this.'

Cartman looks a little surprised at my refusal. He cocks his head to one side, pleading eyes piercing mine. 'But you'll look so hot in it!'

'I don't care! You know I hate pink!'

'But Kyyyyle!'

I also hate it when he drags my name out like that. 'No! I'm not wearing it! I'll look fucking stu-'

Cartman grabs my wrist and yanks me down, crushing my lips with his and silencing my rant. When we separate, he gazes at me intently, penetrating my soul with those hypnotic chocolate eyes of his. I tremble slightly as he speaks to me in that dark sensual tone of voice that I love so much.

'Kyle...if you do this one thing for me, it'll make me so very happy.'

...Goddamn it. I sigh and reluctantly oblige. Fucking spoiled brat always has to get his way. I suppose it's not so bad though. It's not like it's one of those hideous full length ones - it just ties around the waist and is so small that it only barely conceals my crotch area. I just really hope that it hasn't been borrowed from his mom's collection. Once I'm 'dressed', I give Cartman a twirl, pausing when my back is to him so he can get a good look at my bare ass.

'Happy now?'

'Mm, so very.'

When I turn to face him, his grin is so dazzling it's almost blinding. He hooks me around the waist with his arms and pulls me on top of him so that I'm kneeling on the edge of the bed astride his legs. He kisses me lightly, running his hands over my body admiringly. He then reaches back into the basket, pulling out a strange looking kitchen utensil. I think it's an egg beater, though I'm not sure if that's the right name for it.

'Now then,' Cartman begins. 'I'm gonna ask you some basic cookery questions. If you get them right, you'll be rewarded. If you get them wrong, I'll have to beat you over the ass with my whisk. Clear?' I nod as Cartman demonstratively taps me on the ass with his weapon of choice. 'Also, throughout the duration of the lesson you will refer to me as 'chef'. If you forget to refer to me as 'chef', there will be trouble. Do you understand?'

I think he's been watching a little too much Hell's Kitchen. He's kinda similar to Gordon Ramsay actually – a domineering, foul-mouthed control freak.

'Yes, chef,' I reply dutifully.

Cartman grins. 'Awesome. Now, on with the lesson...'

He reaches back into the basket and pulls out a white canister. When he holds it up to my face, I recognise it instantly.

'Do you know what this is, Kyle?'

'It's whipped cream, chef.'

He nods. 'And what do we do with whipped cream?'

'Spray it onto stuff, chef.'

'What stuff specifically, Kyle?'

I smile innocently. 'Skin, chef?'

Cartman smirks. 'Excellent answer.'

Flipping the lid off of the canister, Cartman squirts a little cream onto his index finger and holds it to my lips. I gingerly flick out my tongue and lap at the cream, slowly relishing the taste in my mouth and moaning contentedly. I step things up, taking his finger into my mouth and sucking on it dramatically even after all the cream has gone from it. My eyes never move from Cartman's as I perform, and I'm rewarded by a small amount of colour illuminating his face. He pulls his finger from between my lips and leans forward to kiss me. Just as our lips are about to meet, Cartman accidentally presses the trigger on the pressurised can, squirting cream all over both of our chests. We jump apart slightly, look at each other and laugh.

'Oops!' Cartman sniggers.

I shrug and lean back in, licking a dollop of cream from his shoulder blade. I take my time as I move down across his chest, vanquishing the white mess with my tongue. This is fun, but the thought does cross my mind that Cartman's skin tastes so much better by itself. When I'm finish, Cartman returns the favour, hungrily slurping the cream from my torso. His teeth graze against my nipples and neck as he works, and I moan lightly in response.

After he's done, Cartman wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand and grins at me.

'God, you're delicious. But let's not get sidetracked. We have a lesson to finish.'

He fishes around in the basket again and this time brings out a Tupperware container full of dark brown liquid.

'What's this, Kyle?'

He hands me the tub and I bring the liquid to my nose to smell it. There's no mistaking what this is.

'That's chocolate sauce, chef.'

'And what's that for?'

'It's for coating things with, chef.'

'What, exactly?'

With a mischievous smile, I turn the tub on its side and allow most of the sauce to drop into Cartman's exposed crotch. He shudders visibly as I reach down and smooth the chocolate out over his skin. He looks down at my handiwork appreciatively.

'A culinary masterpiece,' he says softly.

'Indeed,' I reply. 'It's just such a shame that I'm diabetic, chef.'

He grins at me. 'What's a shame? I made this sauce myself, with diabetic chocolate just for you.'

Clever bastard. 'How very thoughtful of you, chef.'

'Thoughtful had nothing to do with it, my dear Jew. Now get on your knees and enjoy my sauce.'

'With pleasure.'

I crawl out of his lap and kneel on the floor in front of him. I lick up a thin trail of sauce that dribbled down his chest first before attacking his thighs with my lips and tongue. He moans, sounding a little bit frustrated as I'm obviously not going for the areas he wants me to. But I'm deliberately leaving his cock and balls until last – the drier the sauce is on his skin, the longer it'll take me to lick off.

Once his thighs are chocolate-free, I run my hands over the clean skin and look up at Cartman coyly. He growls under his breath at me and I swear he bucks his hips a little. Always happy to oblige, I swirl the tip of my tongue over the head of his cock and then down the length to the base. I slowly lick my way back up to the head, leaving a spiral pattern on the chocolate around his cock. I move back down to his balls, giving each one a vigorous sucking. The chocolate has started to taste a little tart, no doubt with a coating of anticipatory sweat. I wonder if this is what Chef meant when he used to sing about chocolate salty balls.

Though I don't stop working, I raise my eyes to sneak a look at Cartman's face. He looks totally mesmerized by what I'm doing. I can tell he's still enjoying it by his rapid breathing and the way that his balls keep clenching. Content that Cartman's skin is almost entirely clean of chocolate I return to his cock, taking it deep into my mouth and sucking away any remnants. Another thing Cartman likes other than the blowjob/handjob alternation is for me to suck him as hard as I can. So I do.

After a minute or so of energetic suckling, Cartman gasps loudly and squirms as my mouth floods with a sugary saline solution. The two harsh distinctive tastes blend together and cause my tongue to tingle. Cartman barely gives me the chance to milk him dry before he pulls me back up to him and kisses me. His tongue delves into my mouth and he groans at the exotic taste he finds there. He pulls back and eyes me favourably with a satisfied smile.

'You're such a good little student, Kyle. I have one more question for you though - a tough one.'

Cartman's final visit to the basket produces a green cylindrical vegetable. It's about the length and width of my forearm. I study it for a second. There are a couple of things this could be, but I'm not entirely sure which it is.

'What's this, Kyle?'

'Erm...' Wait a second, why am I so concerned about getting the answer wrong? Cartman's punishments kick ass! 'A carrot, chef?'

Cartman looks at me like I'm stupid for a second before realising that I deliberately gave the wrong answer. He strokes my face, shaking his head regretfully as he pulls me up onto the bed.

'On your knees,' he commands.

I do as instructed, clinging onto one of Cartman's pillows as I eagerly await my punishment. I feel him behind me, gently dragging the whisk across my ass and lower back. I shudder in anticipation as the cool metal teases my skin, and I mentally prepare my body for the pleasurable assault that will follow.

But then the whisk is abruptly taken away from my skin. There's a short silence which is broken when Cartman sighs and crawls up onto the bed to kneel behind me. He lazily strokes my thighs with his fingertips, not saying anything for about a minute. This is a bit weird, but very exciting. The suspense is killing me!

'You know what? I've changed my mind,' he says suddenly. 'I have something better than a spanking in store for you.'

Better than a spanking? I'm intrigued. Suddenly his fingers start to penetrate me. I automatically respond with a moan, rocking my hips and pushing myself back against him. His fingers are drenched in lube, sliding in and out of me with minimal effort. I gasp as Cartman teases that sweet spot inside of me with his index finger before stretching me out as much as possible. When he removes his fingers he chuckles, gets down from the bed and slowly walks around it to stand in front of me. In his hand is the long green vegetable that I didn't name correctly. It glistens in the late afternoon sunlight pouring through the window, as it too is soaked in lube.

'Kyle, meet Mr Zucchini. You're about to get to know each other very well.'

I don't know how my brain doesn't put two and two together quicker, but I've only just realised what Cartman is planning. I eye the zucchini nervously – no offence to Cartman, but it's a hell of a lot bigger than what I'm used to. Cartman slowly walks back around the bed and crawls onto the bed behind me. He strokes my ass affectionately as he presses one end of the vegetable to my entrance. I draw in a huge anticipatory breath as Cartman's thick rich laughter echoes in my ears.

'You'll never confuse a zucchini with a carrot again, Kyle.'

I groan loudly as Cartman slowly slides the large vegetable inside me. Fucking hell, I swear to God it didn't look anywhere near as big as it feels! Once Cartman is happy with how much of the zucchini I've taken, he holds it steady and I cringe as my insides constrict around it. It stings like a motherfucker, but my body still convulses with pleasure.

'Ahh! Oh God! It hurts!'

'You like that, Kyle?'

The zucchini starts to slide back out of me, and then back in again, faster and faster each time. I try to relax my muscles, but it's no use. I'm being totally stretched to the limit. I never would have thought that being so uncomfortable could feel this fucking good.

'Oh fuck yes!' I moan. 'It's so fucking big!'

'Do you like the feeling of Mr Zucchini splitting you in two, Kyle?' Cartman drawls.

'Oh my God! Ahh!'

Cartman starts stroking my cock as he continues to fuck my ass with our makeshift sex toy. I'm beyond words now, incapable of doing anything but pant and moan, and cling to my pillow for dear life. Cartman suddenly changes angle, roughly brushing the sensitive node inside of me and causing my body to quake wildly. Although I'm almost screaming with the intensity of pleasure combined with pain, I still have my wits about me enough to notice that Cartman is moaning behind me. I can't help but wonder what he's getting off on more – giving me pleasure or causing me pain.

I'm right on the edge when the zucchini is suddenly whipped out of my ass. Cartman flips me onto my back on the bed, hastily locks his mouth over my throbbing erection and starts steadily sucking. I close my eyes and throw my head back against the pillows as I cum almost instantly, purring loudly as I feel his throat muscles squeezing my cock. When I'm finished, I lay back trembling and aching. Cartman moves up to the head of the bed, licking his lips as he flops down beside me. He gives me a moment to catch my breath, smiling at me tiredly as he fondles my chest and plays with my hair.

'So how was that?'

'Very interesting. I've never had a vegetable up my ass before.'

Cartman laughs at my deadpan reply. 'I bet your ass loved it.'

'It did,' I agree. 'But it loves your cock more.'

He smirks at the compliment. 'In that case, stay the night again. Both you and your ass can have my cock all you want.'

'Stay another night? Your mom's gonna start wondering what's up with us.'

'No she won't. She doesn't give a crap about what I do.'

Cartman's sudden outburst takes me by surprise. He sounds angry and slightly hurt. I never did ask him why his mom disappeared again. I think it's probably for the best if I don't for now. In anticipation of any questions I may have, Cartman clears his throat purposefully. 'So, are you staying or not?'

Like he even needs to ask. 'I'll just call home and let them know.' I plant a quick kiss to his lips before leaning out of the bed to reach for my jeans. Cartman nods, yawning as he pulls the sheets over us and settles down beside me. I dial my home telephone number into my cell and barely have to wait two rings before there's an answer.

'Broflovski residence.'

I sigh irritably. 'Ike, don't answer the phone like that. You sound like a fucking nerd.'

'Shut up, gaywad! Where the hell have you been all weekend? Mom's gonna kick your ass when you get home.'

'Whatever. Is Dad there?'

I figure I might as well go for the lesser of two evils. Ike doesn't reply, although I can hear him shouting for Dad in the background. While I wait, something touches me under the sheets – it's Cartman's arm, slowly slinking around my waist. I glance at him and he flashes me a sickly sweet smile. Before I can ask him what he's doing, I get my dad's voice in my ear.

'Kyle?'

'Hey Dad.'

'Where are you? We were starting to worry.'

He actually sounds concerned rather than angry, which is a good sign. Cartman shuffles a little closer to me, trailing his fingers across my bare chest.

'I'm sorry I didn't check in sooner,' I pause as Cartman kisses my cheek. 'Erm...it's just that one of my friends is going through a tough time right now and they really want me around for moral support.'

Dad says something in reply to that, but I have no idea what. I'm a little distracted by Cartman as he licks at my free ear and softly kisses my neck. I shrug away from him, shooting him an annoyed glare.

'Dude, I'm talking to my dad!' I hiss.

'Are you listening to me, Kyle?'

'S-sure, Dad.'

I'm totally not. My annoying asshole boyfriend just smirks and continues to nip and suck at my neck. His roaming fingers firmly pinch one of my nipples, and I let out a blissful yelp. Right in my dad's ear.

'Kyle? Are you alright? What happened?'

'N-nothing, Dad. Just a cramp in my foot...'

If looks could kill, Eric Cartman would be a dead man. He seems to think it's insanely funny that I just moaned down the phone at my father! He buries his face into his pillow to keep himself from laughing out loud and I seriously consider smothering him with said pillow at that moment. Instead, I turn on my side facing away from him so that I can finish my conversation unmolested - literally!

'So is it okay if I stay with my friend again tonight?'

'I don't know, Kyle. You have school tomorrow.'

'Please Dad, he really needs me. All my homework is done and I'll make the time to come home in the morning for my insulin. I'll be fine for school, I promise. Please?'

'_I promise, Daddy Jew! Pleeeaaase!__'_ I can hear Cartman mocking me under his breath as he creeps closer and hugs me from behind, but I pretend not to notice.

'Alright Kyle, but don't stay up too late.'

I feel Cartman's fingers trail over my hip and under my apron in search of my cock. I swat at him under the sheets with my free hand and he yelps. I think I got him in the balls...ah well. Serves him right.

'Thanks Dad,' I say cheerfully. 'Oh, and Dad? Err...I dunno if Mom told you about our conversation yesterday, but I-'

'Yes, but don't worry about it right now,' Dad say quietly. 'We'll talk about it some other time, okay? You'd better get back to your friend for the time being.'

I smile. Thank God I have at least one reasonable parent. 'Sure. Bye Dad.'

The second the phone call ends, I'm shoved off the bed and onto the floor. Ouch, fucking carpet burn! I also feel something crunch under my weight and look down to see a crushed zucchini. I scowl up at Cartman, who's staring back at me over the edge of the bed with equal ferocity.

'Did you have to fucking whack me in the balls?'

I wipe the zucchini pulp off my ass as I get to my feet.

'I told you to stop messing around, fatass!'

'**In the balls**, Jew?!'

'I don't care! Do you want us to get caught?'

'I don't give a fuck if we do.'

'Well, you **should** give a fuck, because if we get found out it'll be over between us.'

Shit! That came out totally the wrong way. At first Cartman looks confused, then annoyed. He turns onto his back and glares up at the ceiling, refusing to look at me as I crawl back onto the bed next to him. I watch him silently for a moment, hoping that he'll look at me but he doesn't. I sigh, placing my hand over his. How do I explain this without sounding like an asshole?

'Look, what I meant was I doubt that anyone is gonna be all that happy to find out we're...like this. So at least until we both know for sure how we're feeling, we need to keep this a secret.'

He rolls his eyes, still looking pretty pissed off. I'm quite surprised that he's acting like this. He'd actually be okay with everyone knowing about us? He'd be fine with telling people that he's nailing the Jew? I guess that I should be flattered that he isn't ashamed of me. Having said that, Cartman isn't ashamed of much. This is the guy that showed everyone in our fourth grade class a photograph of him sucking another kid's wiener and had no trouble showing his face the very next day.

'Cartman, don't get me wrong. I'm so glad that this has happened between us and I honestly don't give a flying fuck what anyone thinks of it. I'd gladly climb out of your window right this minute and scream from your rooftop that my ass belongs to Eric Cartman.' I'm happy to see him smile at this. 'There's just one thing stopping me from doing that. And I'm not prepared to let that...thing fuck this up for us.'

Although he still doesn't look at me, Cartman instantly looks a lot more reassured and nods. He knows exactly what 'thing' I'm referring to - my mom. She would never in a million years support our decision to be together. I know for a fact that despite her claims that she's not homophobic, she wouldn't be able to accept her own son being gay. Not to mention that she absolutely despises Cartman. If she finds out about this, she'll just work her usual magic and try to ruin everything. I can't risk letting that happen. Therefore, nobody can know.

Cartman seems to read my mind. 'You really care about...us that much?'

I answer by firmly turning his face towards me and claiming his lips with mine, trying to match the breath-taking passion of the kiss he gave me back in the clearing earlier today. My efforts are rewarded by a low gratified moan, and he pulls me on top of him. The intensity of our kiss soaring, I run my fingers through his thick dark hair as my tongue keenly massages his. His hands caress my sides and squeeze my hips as I grind against him forcefully. Without warning, Cartman pulls back from the kiss and brings his hand to his face, examining a lump of creamy green paste stuck to his fingers. He looks a little alarmed.

'Oh yeah, I killed the zucchini,' I quickly explain before he freaks out.

Cartman glances over the edge of the bed at the mess on his floor and shrugs.

'That's cool. I can just scrape it off the carpet and make us some ratatouille for supper.'

I cringe, disgusted. 'That thing's been up my ass!'

He nods with a perverted grin. 'Yummy.'

'Sick, dude!'

'Oh, **I'm **sick? You're the one who likes vegetables up your butt, Jew.'

I blush hotly. 'You're the one who stuck it up there, fatass!'

'Yeah, so as to cater to **your** unbridled kinkiness!'

'You said you liked my kinkiness!'

'I do. It happens to be one of my favourite things about you.'

I smile at this. 'Well, what are your other favourite things about me?'

'Wouldn't you like to know?' he taunts. 'Anyway, I think I deserve some form of apology for that unnecessary shot to the balls, don't you?'

He reaches around the back of me and mercifully unties the apron, casting it into the corner of the room. Now liberated of that fucking pink monstrosity, I make myself comfortable sitting back on Cartman's hips, grinding our cocks together as I think of what fun we can have now. Something catches my eyes and I reach over to the nightstand where the bucket of ice Cartman brought upstairs still sits. I pull out a generous sized cube of ice and place it in between my teeth. Cartman silently watches as I gently skim the ice cube in a circular pattern around the outside one of his nipples. He hisses sensually, the harsh sound melting into a moan as I repeat the action a few more times.

I make sure to give his other nipple equal attention and then begin experimenting by touching different parts of his torso with the ice. His reaction is strongest when I stroke the cube along his jugular, letting out a strangled cry and reaching up to grab a handful of my hair in a tight fist. I'm not used to being the one in control of the other person's pleasure, but this is awesome. I love hearing Cartman whimper and feeling him shudder beneath me whenever I touch him in just the right place. Probably because it's just so unlike Cartman to whimper and shudder. It's also pretty unlike him to admit that he likes a Jew. I guess there's more to my Nazi asshole boyfriend then what meets the eye.

The lump of ice has nearly melted and my teeth are starting to get really cold. Just as I'm about to spit the ice out into my hand, Cartman pulls my face to his and kisses me, warming my mouth while sucking the ice cube out from between my lips. I think he swallows it straight down as he shivers a little and continues to kiss me hard. He decides to take control again, gently pushing me onto my back and parting my legs so that he can nestles between them. We continue to kiss, our hands exploring the familiar bulges and crevices of each other's bodies. Cartman releases his grip on my hair and pulls back from our kiss to look at me, his hard cock nudging insistently against the flesh of my ass.

'What was it that you said earlier, Kyle? Your favourite thing to be inside you?'

'I want your cock inside me, Cartman,' I say huskily.

He grins. 'Sweet.'

At least he won't need to waste time with lube this time – I think I've got enough inside me already to last until the end of the week! He reaches into his bedside table drawer and produces a condom. I once read that apparently it feels better for both the giver and receiver if a condom isn't worn. There's more friction without a latex barrier between the cock and whatever orifice it's pounding into. In that case, I wonder why...

'How come you always wear those?'

He looks at me like it's a really stupid question. 'Because having a wad of spooge up your ass probably isn't very comfortable.'

Having a large phallic vegetable up your ass isn't very comfortable either, but it didn't stop him from doing it. I suppose he does have a point. But I don't care - I'm desperate to feel the firm smooth skin of his cock inside me.

'What if I **want** to feel you cum in my ass?'

I smile invitingly as Cartman looks between me and the foil packet in his hand. He smiles cockily, tossing the condom aside.

'Then why didn't you fucking say so sooner, bitch?'

Without another word, he firmly grips my hips and enters me. I'm still a little sore from the zucchini, so it takes me a second to push beyond the pain and feel...sweet holy Moses, Cartman's cock feels good inside of me! As he buries himself to the hilt and holds steady, I experiment with tightening myself around him, and we both release an elated groan as a result. When Cartman starts to build up his usual rhythm, it feels like a stiff rod of silk is being slid inside me rather than the usual lump of plastic.

I'm so distracted by how fantastic and new this feels that I'm totally forgetting to pay any attention to Cartman. Though he's clearly feeling the difference too – he keeps losing his rhythm and he's moaning a lot louder than usual. I wrap my legs around his waist, digging my heels into his back to encourage him to fuck me deeper.

'Jesus, Cartman,' I whisper. 'You feel so good inside me.'

He looks at me, his lips slightly parted as he pants softly. He looks like he wants to say something as he continues to thrust into me, but it takes him a moment or two to get his words out.

'...totally...'

I smile, sliding my arms around his neck and pulling his face to mine. Moaning into each other's mouths as we kiss, our hands once again explore the sweaty terrain of the other's body. All the while, Cartman pounds into me with such hard-line enthusiasm that I swear my pelvis is about to break. I really wouldn't give a fuck if it did. This is so fucking delicious!

I soon feel a subtle rush of warmth inside me as Cartman climaxes. He was quicker than usual – I guess the condoms were reducing his sensitivity. Not that I'm complaining – it was still an amazing fuck while it lasted. I feel Cartman's fingers around the base of my cock and he soon has me finished off. As his soft cock slides out of me, I cringe as a trickle of cum spills out, giving me a cold sensation at the base of my spine. I turn onto my side and as I move, I notice a greasy feeling, like someone has emptied out a whole bottle of olive oil inside of my ass. There's that uncomfortable feeling he must have been talking about. Still, the actual feeling of his cock and his cum shooting inside of me was out of this world - totally worth it!

I barely get my breath back before my eyes start to flutter closed. There's nothing quite like a nice romantic bareback fuck to send you on your way to Dreamland. Cartman seems to notice my lethargy and pulls the sheets back over us, smirking down at me as I nuzzle into the pillow that I've claimed as my own.

'So how did it feel when I blew my load inside of you then?'

I smile wearily. He's just such a hopeless romantic. 'It was great at first. It feels pretty gross now though.'

He sniggers. 'Don't say I didn't warn you, Jew boy.'

Yeah, yeah - he was right. So what? I'm too tired and sated to give two shits right now. I yawn softly, snuggling into the welcoming heat of Cartman's body as sleep starts to take me over. My eyes close to the rhythmical sound of his breathing and I smile to myself contentedly as it dawns on me how truly awesome this situation is.

Granted, I might be covered in whipped cream and chocolate, with cum up my ass and major ring-sting from being molested with a large vegetable.

But I can quite honestly say that I've never been happier.

* * * * *

_I've learned something today - writing these two as a romantic couple and keeping them in character is very difficult - but also very fun! I'm really enjoying writing this story, and I hope you guys are enjoying reading it._

_Chapter 13 will be coming soon, possibly by the end of the week depending on how much I can be bothered with new year celebrations and shit. Until then, thanks for reading. Please do review!_

_DD_

_XX_

_PS: Remember kids – safe sex is important. So if you don't want a wad of spooge up your ass, use a condom!_


	13. Covetous

_Author Notes: Thanks as usual for reading and reviewing. I'm glad you enjoyed the filth! I've switched pace a little for this chapter – my intention was to make this more of a fun chapter rather than one full of filth or lovey dovey-ness. This is mostly because I intend for the next couple of chapters to be rather emotionally heavy and eventful, and I just wanted to take things down a notch before hitting you with a load of drama. Enjoy!_

**Chapter 13 – Covetous**

Its Friday lunchtime. 12.05pm, to be exact.

That means that Cartman and I have 'officially' been together for 11 days, 22 hours and 35 minutes. And we haven't killed each other yet. That's a good sign.

I just don't understand what the secret formula is here. He still drives me insane with his tactlessness, and I still drive him nuts by 'being an annoying Jew'. He still rips on me constantly, and I reciprocate accordingly. The only thing that's really changed between us is that we touch each other more often and are marginally nicer to each other. So how the hell are we so good together? Why is this working? It doesn't make any sense.

I suppose I should be happy enough with how we are to stop looking for the logic in what's happening. That's what Cartman keeps telling me to do. He's right – we should just sit back and enjoy what we have together. Although I think it would be easier to enjoy it if other people knew. I realise that it was my decision to keep things a secret, but holding back from him in public really kills me sometimes. Like when there's a speck of lint on his jacket that I really want to pick off. Or if his hair's too neat for my liking and I wanna ruffle it up a little...

The secrecy also makes me feel guilty, especially when it comes to Stan. I'm sick of having to lie to him all the time about what Cartman and I are doing together. I mean, obviously I wouldn't tell him **exactly** what we **really** do together if he knew. But I'd love to be able to respond to his 'Wendy and I had such a fun time at the art gallery on Saturday' type stories with my own. I really think he'd understand and accept my relationship with Cartman if I told him about it in just the right way. Cartman keeps offering to tell Stan on my behalf, but I don't think that's a good idea somehow – discretion has never been Cartman's strong suit. It's gonna be a hell of a bombshell to hit Stan with, and I'm gonna have to think very carefully about how to spin this whole thing to him positively.

I can't do it just yet anyway. It's not that I don't trust Stan, but even just one person knowing about me and Cartman is a risk.

I enter the school cafeteria and see Kenny waving me over to a different table to our usual one. We've got quite a crowd today – Kenny, Butters, Craig, Clyde, Wendy and Bebe. And Cartman, of course. There's no sign of Stan today – I think he said something about extra football practice. Everyone murmurs their hellos as I take the seat opposite Cartman. He doesn't say anything, but raises his eyes to meet mine and returns the secret smile I shoot him. As I bite down on my sandwich, I notice that he has the tiniest fleck of food on the corner of his mouth and I have to repress the strong urge I get to lean across the table and lick it off. I probably wouldn't do it whether people knew about us or not really, but it was a nice thought all the same.

'Did you guys see that dude on the news last night?' Clyde says.

'There were lots of dudes on the news last night, dickhead,' Craig replies.

Those two argue and rip on each other nearly as much as me and Cartman. I wonder if they're secretly screwing each other too. You never know.

'I mean the one who went to the Netherlands to die, you fucking smartass,' Clyde says. 'He had incurable cancer or some shit and wanted to die, so he went to a country where assisted suicide is legal.'

'Wow. How'd he do it?' Bebe asks.

'A doctor fed him a load of deadly drugs and boom, it was all over.'

What a cheerful topic of conversation. I'm not at all surprised when Cartman chips in. He loves talking about death and destruction, plague and pestilence, that sort of thing.

'Good for him,' he says. 'What's the point in continuing your life if you can't enjoy it anymore?'

'How can you say that?' Wendy pipes up. 'The Hippocratic Oath states that doctors must do anything in their power to preserve human life. Euthanasia totally goes against this.'

'I'm sorry, Wendy. Could you repeat that? I got bored and stopped listening the second you opened your mouth.'

Wendy growls under her breath and slams her fork down into her mashed potato. Cartman continues with an amused look on his face, kinda like the look he gets when he knows he's making **me** angry...

'Look, if I'm gonna die I'd rather take my own life than surrender myself to some pussy disease.'

'There's nothing 'pussy' about honourably suffering through the cards life has dealt you. Suicide is just the coward's way out.'

'Coward's way out? Don't think so. It takes a lot of balls to kill yourself.'

'No, just a lot of selfishness! How must that guy's family be feeling about what he did?'

'They should be fucking stoked that he isn't in pain anymore. If not, **they're** the selfish ones.'

'You are so insensitive!'

'Well, duh! Fucking newsflash!'

I can feel my blood starting to boil as I listen to them. As ridiculous as it sounds, I really don't like the fact that Cartman is arguing with someone else. He's totally turned away from me to face Wendy. I've never thought myself to be a jealous person, but I'm so fucking envious of the attention he's giving her right now that it's giving me a headache.

'I agree with Cartman.'

This gets all eyes on me. Everyone gawps in astonishment, including Cartman who looks more surprised than anyone. It's pretty funny that it's not actually my pro-euthanasia stance that's blindsided everyone – more the simple fact that I've agree with Cartman on something. I'm surprised someone hasn't called the local press already. I clear my throat and continue.

'I mean personally, if I was suffering, I'd want to end it quickly rather than drag it out. If animals are entitled to a swift end to their suffering, then why can't we have that same option?'

As I'm talking, I feel Cartman deliberately brush his leg up against mine under the table. Our eyes meet and he grins at me.

'Thank you, Kyle. See, if the Jew agrees then I must be right. Who the hell wants to live out the rest of their days on a feeding tube anyway?'

Wendy scowls. 'I could understand why **you** wouldn't. It would take a pretty big feeding tube to keep you alive, fatass.'

'Wendy, don't be a bitch.'

The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. Everyone looks totally scandalised again, except for Wendy who just looks kinda furious. Like I care – she had no right to speak to Cartman like that. For once, he wasn't saying anything that warranted such a malicious comeback. Now that the table has been stunned into silence, I contentedly return to my sandwich. As I nibble at the crust, I glance up at Cartman who is not so subtly staring at me. He looks intrigued by my outburst, but also amused - very amused, in fact! I smile to myself as I return my focus to my lunch.

I aim to please.

* * * * *

After school, I go to meet Cartman by the trees outside our clearing so that we can walk home together. Rather than going to his place, we're going to mine for a change. Cartman seems to think that if he spends more time around my family, he'll become more endearing to them and so there will be a better chance of them accepting our relationship when we're finally ready to tell everyone. His enthusiasm and confidence that our relationship is gonna go the distance made me so happy that I instantly agreed, but on reflection that decision might not have been such a good idea. My mom absolutely hates Cartman and has done for years, and winning her over will be a challenge that I just don't think he's up to.

Cartman's already waiting for me when I get there, and pulls me into his arms the second I'm within reaching distance. I answer his greeting with a quick kiss to his lips and we briskly head off in the direction of my house. I feel Cartman's hand squeeze my shoulder as we walk.

'Still okay with us going to your place today?' he asks.

I sigh and shrug. 'Sure. What's the worst that can happen?'

I mean that. I don't think there's anything Cartman can do or say that's gonna make my mom dislike him more than she already does. I probably shouldn't say that - famous last words and all.

'Are you positive?' he presses. 'Just 'cause you're my bitch now, doesn't mean that you have to...agree with me on everything.'

I give him a disdainful look as he grins wickedly. I know he's referring to the conversation at lunchtime.

'Don't call me your bitch, asshole. And I don't agree with you on everything. I **did** agree with you about the euthanasia thing though.'

He sniggers. 'Speaking of calling people a bitch, how do you expect your Super Best Buddy will react to what you said to his girlfriend?'

That's a good point. I doubt Stan will be too happy that I yelled at Wendy, but at least I can try to justify it.

'Well, she **was** being a bitch. What she said to you was totally out of order.'

'It was no worse than anything that you'd say to me.'

'That's different. She's not allowed to speak to you like that.'

Cartman lets out a short derisive laugh. 'And you are?'

'Yes! Arguing with you like that is **my** thing, not hers.'

I cringe as I hear myself say those words. I sound like such a spoiled brat. Cartman stops in his tracks. When I turn back to look at him, he's staring at me in disbelief.

'Are you...jealous that I argued with Wendy?'

Goddamn it, fucking perceptive bastard! I feel a rush of blood to my face.

'O-of course not! Why would I be jealous of that?'

I seem to have totally lost the ability to lie, because the look on Cartman's face would indicate that he can see right through me.

'You fucking are! You're jealous that you didn't have my undivided attention for once, aren't you?'

He starts laughing raucously, which does nothing to make me feel any better about this situation.

'Shut up, fatass!'

The laughter becomes louder. Well, I'm glad he finds me so fucking entertaining. He's nearly doubled over. Asshole! I hope he falls on his ass, and I hope it hurts too.

'Aw, are you worried that she's vying for your position as my favourite victim?' he taunts. 'Does the dreary little she-hippie make you feel threatened?'

'Yes!'

There - that shut him up. 'What? You're not serious?'

My anger dies down the second Cartman stops laughing, and I realise how stupid what I just said sounded. Why the hell did I say that I feel threatened by my best friend's girlfriend? There's no way she likes Cartman, and he certainly doesn't like her. Where's all this possessiveness coming from? I can't even validate it. I mean, I can try, but...

'Well...there's tension between you. And you've kissed her before.'

That was lame and we both know it. Cartman rolls his eyes. 'No, **she** kissed **me**. When we were **eight**. And any so-called 'tension' that's still there is down to her. I couldn't give a crap about her. I fucking hate hippies, remember?'

'You fucking hated Jews last time I checked.'

'For Christ's sake...' Cartman sighs exasperatedly, eyeing me like I've gone nuts. I think I have - why am I being such an unreasonable dickhead all of a sudden? I do trust Cartman, don't I? He steps forward, closing the distance between us.

'Do you have any idea how retarded you sound right now? Do you honestly think she's any competition for you? I'd rather argue with you than her any day. Unlike her, you're irresistibly sexy when you're angry and besides...'

Taking a quick glance around at the deserted street, he cups my chin in his hand and kisses me firmly. My eyes flutter shut and my hands clutch at the front of his jacket as I return it. It ends far too quickly for my liking and Cartman pulls back to look me in the eye.

'A million kisses from her aren't even worth one from you,' he murmurs huskily.

Wow...I wonder what greetings card he lifted that one from. I mean, that was so fucking cliché and corny. Having said that, I absolutely loved hearing it. I actually felt my stomach flutter when he said it. I never expected to hear anything like that from Cartman. I don't think he did either. He clears his throat uncomfortably as I laugh, pressing my forehead to his.

'Cartman, you're such a...complete fag sometimes.'

I'm totally expecting it when he pushes me away from him and delivers a half-hearted slap across the back of my head.

'Fuck you, Jew! You're the one being a pussy and getting all jealous for no good reason!'

I continue to laugh teasingly and dodge his size 11 boot when it tries to make contact with my ass as we carry on walking. 'I know, I'm sorry. I just want everything to go okay tonight. I'll make it up to you later, I promise.'

He smirks, reaching up to tousle my hair as we turn the corner into my street.

'I'll hold you to that.'

I hope he does, because he deserves to have it made up to him. What the hell was I thinking, getting jealous over Wendy? Cartman never even mentions her. When I think about it though, Stan acts like this sometimes when Wendy has to work with a guy who's smarter or better looking than him. Maybe jealousy is just a necessary evil in a relationship. I wonder if Cartman would get jealous if somebody started paying a little extra attention to me.

When we reach my house, I notice Cartman smoothing down his hair and taking deep breaths. I can't imagine what's going through his head right now. Hopefully it's not 'Remember Eric, just be yourself.' I push the front door open and lead the way as Cartman slowly trails in after me. Ike is on the couch hogging the television as per usual. More fucking hockey! I swear if I have to hear 'Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye' one more time, I'm gonna stick a fountain pen through my eardrums.

'Ike, stop being so antisocial and say hi to Cartman.'

Ike sighs and waves his hand dismissively. 'Can't I meet your life partner some other time, queer-mo?'

Cartman frowns. 'Hey! Shut your mouth, you little dild-' He bites his lip and takes a breath. '...I mean, good afternoon Ike.'

His tone changes just as my mom walks into the room from the kitchen. She looks happy to see me, but her smile quickly fades when she realises who I've brought home. I smile brightly - I just need to act oblivious, like I've totally forgotten my mom's opinion of my boyfriend.

'Hey, Mom. You remember Eric Cartman, right?'

Her eyes narrow. 'How could I forget? Hello, Eric.'

As planned, Cartman launches into ultra-charisma mode. He flashes my mom one of his brilliant non-smug charming smiles and extends a hand to her.

'Mrs Broflovski, good day to you. So lovely to see you again. That's a very attractive blouse that you're wearing. Have you lost weight since I last saw you?'

My mom eyes Cartman's outstretched hand and takes it gingerly, shaking it only briefly before retrieving her hand.

'I...I've dropped a few pounds, yes. Thank you for noticing.'

She smiled! It was only a little one, but it was definitely a smile! Maybe this will work after all.

'Would you boys like something to drink? I made some lemonade earlier.'

'Oh, allow me to help you,' Cartman says sweetly.

'That's very kind of you, Eric.'

There's a definite smile on my mother's face as she leads Cartman into the kitchen. I can hear him making small talk and complimenting the decor. I think he's probably going a little overboard, but I guess he's never been one to do anything by half. And at least he's not being offensive. As I flop down on the couch, Ike glances over at me and raises an eyebrow.

'He's not that friend of yours that tries to screw people's moms, is he?'

Perish the thought! I guess Ike feels Cartman's laying it on a little thick too. 'No, Ike. You're thinking of Kenny.'

'Oh yeah...'

There's a short silence as Ike looks thoughtful. Cartman hasn't been over here for a long time, so hopefully Ike won't remember him. I can hear glasses clinking in the kitchen. They should be back through here any second.

'Wait a minute,' Ike says abruptly. 'That's the fat kid that tried to eradicate the Jews, isn't it?'

Ah shit. Probably should have just said yes to the mom screwing thing. Goddamn my brother and his photographic memory! He's looking at me like I'm something on the bottom of his shoe. I guess it's a reasonable reaction – I have just brought an anti-Semite into our house after all. I gesture for him to keep his voice down – the last thing we need is for Mom to be reminded of Cartman's questionable childhood escapades.

'Look, he's not like that anymore. He's turned over a new leaf and wants to make amends for it. Just give him a chance, please.'

Ike sighs. 'Okay. But if I get even the slightest hint of a notion that he wants to exterminate me, I'll beat the shit out of you.'

That sounds fair. I nod silently as my mom and Cartman walk back into the living room, each with two glasses of lemonade in their hands. Cartman hands one to me as Mom sets Ike's down on the coffee table in front of us. Cartman smiles confidently as he sits down in between me and Ike, and my mom sits in the armchair across the room to finish some sewing she's halfway through.

'Oh Kyle, I was just telling Eric,' Mom says as she works. 'Do you remember Ariella, the Cohen's eldest daughter? Well, her mother and I were talking at the grocery store today and apparently she has an eye for you.'

Ike sniggers. 'Who, Ariella or her mom?'

My brother's dumb joke falls on deaf ears, and my mom continues.

'Well, she was wondering if you and Ariella would like to go out together sometime. She did insist on chaperoning, but I promised that I'd ask you.'

I subconsciously glance at Cartman, who raises an eyebrow but otherwise seems unmoved by my situation. I guess it'll take more than a hypothetical date to make him jealous.

'No thanks, Mom,' I say. 'I mean, Ariella's pretty but she's so shallow. I wouldn't really wanna go on a date with her.'

'Yeah, especially not if her mom's gonna be there!' Ike adds with a laugh. 'Total buzzkill!'

My mom smiles slightly and nods. 'It does seem a little extreme. I mean, you're both sixteen years old now.'

'Well, you know what they say,' Cartman says cheerfully. 'The only difference between a Rottweiler and a Jewish mother is that eventually a Rottweiler will let go.'

Oh my God...tell me he didn't just say that! Ike nearly chokes to death on a mouthful of lemonade and my mom glowers at Cartman in a way that I'm positive is gonna make him burst into flames. I look at Cartman's face and it's clear that he knows that he's said something entirely inappropriate. Actually, that's an understatement – I don't think he could have been any further from appropriate if he tried. The silence that follows seems to last for a lifetime – nobody dares to speak. You could cut the atmosphere with a knife. Oh Jesus...

'Err, anyway we really need to get started on our homework. Later!' I grab the sleeve of Cartman's jacket, dragging him from the couch and towards the staircase in one fluid motion. I don't believe it! He hasn't come out with a Jew joke in days and he had to choose **now** to indulge himself? We climb the stairs quickly and in silence. When we reach my room, I almost explode the second the door closes.

'Dude, what the fuck was that?'

He cringes at my tone, the expression on his face somewhere between defensive and genuinely apologetic.

'I got nervous! I make jokes when I'm nervous! It's not my fault Jews don't have a sense of humour!'

Not even bothering to comment on his second anti-Semitic remark of the evening, I lean my back against my bedroom door, cradling my head in my hands to nurse a nonexistent headache.

'God, she's gonna hate you more than ever now.'

'Well...better luck next time, I guess. Let's just mark this one down as a learning experience. I mean, I was doing just fine until-'

'Until you opened your mouth!' I finish for him.

He's about to respond but is cut off when there's a knock on the door. I open it to find Ike standing in the doorway with two glasses in his hand.

'Hey, you guys forgot your lemonade.'

Without waiting for permission to enter, Ike shoves passed me and places the two glasses on my desk. As he turns to leave, he nods at Cartman, grinning like a maniac.

'Rottweiler...good one!'

He leaves the room chuckling as I kick the door shut behind him. I glance over at Cartman, who looks somewhat proud of himself now.

'Well, at least your brother likes me.'

I roll my eyes, slinging my school bag down from my shoulder onto my bed.

'Let's just get started on our homework.'

Cartman nods and we both get out our school books. Homework probably isn't the most ideal thing for two teenagers to be doing on a Friday night, but that was the reason I gave my mom for Cartman being here tonight. At least if she walks in and we're surrounded by paperwork, she won't suspect anything. We both settle on my bed side by side, flicking silently through our textbooks as the trauma of Cartman's little faux pas subsides.

After about twenty minutes, I get bored of reading Shakespeare and glance over at Cartman. He seems only vaguely interested in his American History book. He's never approached school work with any level of enthusiasm, yet somehow he always manages to scrape a pass for everything, if only barely. In fact, the only time he's ever really shown any vigour at school was when we covered World War II, and that was only because it gave him plenty of new material to use to rip on me.

'How's history?' I ask.

'It's okay,' he shrugs. 'It'd probably be easier if you'd stop distracting me though.'

I frown. 'I'm not distracting you.'

He looks up from his textbook, trailing his eyes over my body before flicking them upwards to meet mine.

'You're laying beside me on a bed in tight fitting clothes and there's nothing I can do about it. That's plenty to keep me distracted.'

I nod sympathetically. We made an agreement to keep our hands to ourselves tonight considering where we are. It's all well and good messing around at Cartman's house even when we don't have the place to ourselves – at Cartman's house we only have to worry about one person catching us in the act. Here, there's three – and they don't always knock. I have a lock on my door, but Mom will get suspicious if I use it. It's just too risky to do anything. Flirting, on the other hand...

'Fine, I'll go work at my desk instead.'

Winking saucily, I slide off the bed and walk over to my desk. Pushing the chair to one side, I lay my open literature textbook on the desk and bend over to read it, giving Cartman a nice view of my denim-clad ass. I can practically feel his eyes roaming over my curved form. He makes a frustrated sound and I smirk. Being a distraction is cool.

'That's not helping, Kyle!'

I turn around and try to look innocent. 'Well, excuse me for being so goddamn sexy.'

He smirks at me as I rejoin him on the bed with my copy of Romeo and Juliet. Yep, that's what we're studying in literature. How sickeningly appropriate. Barely a minute has passed and I feel Cartman's hand sliding up my thigh. I pretend to ignore it, bringing my book closer to my face. For some reason Cartman interprets this action as encouragement, stroking my hair with his other hand and brushing my ear with his lips. It's nice, but uncomfortable due to our surroundings. Now I know how girls feel when they get groped in the backseat of some creep's car. I glance over at my bedroom door nervously, squirming as Cartman kisses my neck.

'Dude, no.'

'What if we're really quiet?' he whispers.

'Maybe later when everyone's asleep.'

He sighs impatiently. 'You can't just bend over a desk like that and expect me not to want to do something about it!'

I shrug away from him, not looking up. If I look at him, I'll be more likely to cave.

'It's called teasing, deal with it.'

'Aww!'

Realising that I'm not going to succumb to his whining, he sits and fidgets for a few minutes, spending more time looking at me than at his textbook. I reluctantly look up at him.

'Tell you what. For every ten minutes that you spend doing homework, I'll make out with you for a minute. How does that sound?'

He takes a moment to consider this. 'Two minutes?'

I roll my eyes. 'One and a half?'

Compromise is to a relationship as a sail is to a boat. Or so I've heard. Regardless Cartman seems happy, grinning as he fiddles with his watch, presumably setting the timer to go off in ten minute's time. He opens his history textbook, leaning against me as he settles down to read.

'You drive a hard bargain, Jew.'

* * * * *

I have no idea how, but I managed to talk my mom into letting Cartman stay the night. She agreed just so long as I promised to keep Cartman away from her at all times. In an inexplicable moment of weakness she actually gave him some supper too, and we ate her famous chicken matzah ball soup and rugelach in my room. Remarkably, Cartman didn't make any comments about having to eat the 'Jew food' on offer. I guess he's learnt his lesson. He's probably scared to make another anti-Semitic remark in case my mom has her ear pressed to the door. I wouldn't put it past her.

Our homework was forgotten about hours ago. We made a good dent in it, but didn't get finished. I think our little agreement to 'work for ten minutes, make out for one and a half' kinda ended up working in reverse. After our school books were put away, we just lounged about on my bed talking, flirting, kissing and bickering as we normally do. At one point Cartman went around my room picking up the random keepsakes that I've hoarded over the years and asking me about them. He seemed genuinely interested in my replies. It's a shame - if he listened half that well in school, he'd probably be on the same academic level as me by now.

Now we're both sat on my bed, laughing at some smart remark Cartman made to one of his teachers today. I've realised by now that if I stay with Cartman, I'm going to be stuck with a total man-child for the rest of my life. He's like Peter Pan; I don't think he'll ever grow up. It's cool though – I think I can deal with being the mature one in the relationship. In one of those strange coincidences, we both glance over at my alarm clock at the same time. Its ten thirty now. If we were at Cartman's tonight, I'd probably be naked and on my knees with a mouthful of balls right now. I laugh timidly at this thought and Cartman grins at me. I know he knows what I'm thinking.

'Well, since we can't do what we'd usually do at this time of night, wanna watch a movie or something?'

Probably a good idea before my imagination starts running wild. 'Sure.'

I reach under the bed and drag out a cardboard box containing my horror DVD collection. I have to keep them hidden as my mom doesn't like me having them, especially since the majority of them are NC-17 rated or above. She knows that I have them - she just wants me to keep them away from Ike. She'd probably have a coronary if she knew that my sweet precious baby brother had a pretty badass collection of his own! I hoist the box onto the bed for Cartman to rummage through.

'What's with all the gore, Jew?'

I shrug. 'I like horror movies. They're relaxing. You can switch your brain off to watch them, but the action and suspense still keeps your senses stimulated.'

He raises an eyebrow at me. 'There's another type of movie that does that, you know? It's called porn.'

'Yeah, but horror movies are more fun.'

'I agree. I always suspected that you were as twisted as me.'

Cartman smirks when I flip him off. Unable to make a choice, he turns his face away from the box and blindly reaches in, pulling out the first DVD that his hand finds. He passes it to me to deal with - I think it's one that Stan gave me for my birthday a few months ago. I haven't watched it yet because it's in Spanish with subtitles. I doubt we'll be paying much attention to it anyway, so I leap off the bed and pop it into the DVD player.

I take the opportunity to change out of my day clothes as the piracy warnings and all that other shit you can't skip over plays out. Cartman grabs one of his t-shirts out of the bottom shelf of my closet and follows my lead. Both of us have odd items of clothing stashed at each other's houses now, just in case we randomly decide to stay over. I can feel Cartman's eyes on me as I take my clothes off, and I return his interested glances without a hint of subtly. We smirk at each other and meet back on my bed once we're dressed. I slip under the covers with the DVD remote in my hand. Cartman looks a bit lost.

'Err...where should I...ya know, sleep?'

'Oh, you can sleep with me in my bed,' I reply, fiddling with the remote. 'My mom won't think it's weird. Stan still does it every time he stays over.'

He snorts. 'Really?'

I place the DVD remote on the bedside table and glance over at Cartman, hearing his unimpressed tone. So what if I still share a bed with Stan when he stays over? He's been my best friend since pre-school. My bed's nice and big, we're comfortable doing it and it's easier than messing around making up the couch or something for him to sleep on. What's the big deal? Unless...I wonder...

'Err, yeah,' I continue as Cartman slides in next to me. 'It's sometimes a little awkward though. Especially when he touches me in his sleep.'

Cartman freezes and looks at me strangely. 'What do you mean?'

I do think twice before continuing, but I figure what the hell!

'Well, I guess he must think I'm Wendy or something. Like one morning, I woke up and his arm was around me. And another time, I woke up in the middle of the night and he was kissing my ear...Oh my god, can you imagine if I start thinking he's you as well? Who knows what we could end up doing!'

I laugh like it's the silliest thing in the world. Cartman looks horrified, but I pretend not to notice. I look over at the television and make out like I'm watching the opening credits of the movie. In actuality, I'm waiting for Cartman's reaction.

'Hasn't Stan got a sleeping bag?'

His question comes so abruptly and sounds so bitter that I have to bite my lip to keep myself from laughing.

'Well, yeah. But he's so used to sleeping in my bed, it would be rude to just suddenly kick him out.'

'You and Stan are way too old to still be sleeping in the same bed.'

'We're best friends though. It's cool.'

'No, it's **not** cool!'

I can practically hear his teeth grinding together. He looks really steamed. I'd better put him out of his misery soon. Not just yet though. I smile innocently.

'Cartman? You're not jealous, are you?'

'Of course I'm fucking jealous when you're telling me some other guy is laying in bed with you kissing your ear!'

To his credit, at least he was a little more forthcoming about his jealousy than I was.

'But it's just Stan. He's straight.'

'I don't give a fuck if it's just Stan. I don't want him touching you like that.'

Oh my god, he's actually pouting! I can't keep a straight face any longer. The look on his face when I burst into giggles is too good to be true!

'Dude, stop being such a pussy and getting jealous over nothing.'

When Cartman catches onto what I'm laughing at, he growls in the back of his throat and crosses his arms over his chest moodily.

'Ha ha, very fucking funny.'

Although he's scowling, he shows an amazing amount of patience as he silently waits for me to calm down. When I've stopped laughing, Cartman's arm slides possessively around my shoulders and he pulls me into him. I nuzzle my cheek against his chest as he plants a forceful kiss to the top of my head. I guess I've been forgiven. At least I know now that I'm not the only one capable of gratuitous jealousy. We turn our attention back to the movie but barely five minutes goes by when Cartman speaks again.

'Have you ever looked at Stan in that way?'

Stan once asked me that not long after I told him I was gay. I'll never forget the offended look on his face when I started laughing my ass off in response. I shake my head.

'No dude, he's my best friend. I mean, I'll admit that he's a good looking guy. He's just not my type.'

'What **is** your type?'

I look up at him. '**You're** my type.'

I know it was super cheesy, but it made Cartman smile so I don't care. And in any case, it's true.

'Fag,' he mutters.

I snigger as Cartman kisses my ear lightly. We look back at the screen in time to learn that the little boy in this movie has HIV. I get the feeling this is gonna be more of a 'horror-with-heart' rather than just one scare after the other. It makes me think of the conversation that we had at lunch today. Cartman said that he'd be happy for a family member who wanted to die because they were sick. There's been a couple of times when my diabetes has nearly killed me. In fact, if it wasn't for Cartman's (albeit reluctant) donation of a kidney, I would have died back when I was eight because of it. It's been nicely under control for the past couple of years, but anything could happen when I get older. Blindness, kidney failure, the list goes on. I wonder...

'If I got sick and wanted to die, how would you feel about it?'

Cartman looks totally disturbed that I'd ask him such a thing.

'Kyle, Jesus Christ...'

I disregard his scolding tone. 'Would you really be stoked for me?'

He doesn't answer, turning his attention back to the movie. After about ten minutes of silence, I assume that he's chosen to ignore my question. Then out of nowhere, he lets out a sigh.

'I'd understand and I'd let you do it. But I'd...' I feel his chest rise underneath me as he takes a deep breath. 'I'm pretty sure that I'd wanna die with you.'

Wow. I wasn't really sure what his answer was going to be to such a solemn question, but I didn't expect him to say that.

'Why? I wouldn't want you to do that.'

He rolls his eyes. 'Like I'd care.'

'Seriously, what would be the point in you dying too when you're perfectly healthy? I'd want you to go on and enjoy your life.'

'I wouldn't enjoy it if I didn't have you with me.'

Is he serious? The look in his eyes tells me that he is, but the colour of his face and the way he cringes tells me that he instantly regrets saying it.

'Well...you know, life would suck if I didn't have you to rip on and stuff...stupid Jew.'

He casually looks back at the television, though I can see him watching me out of the corner of his eye. I can tell he's uncomfortable with how I'm looking at him, but I can't help it. The guy's just pretty much said that he couldn't live without me. I'm supposed to just ignore that?

'Dude...that's pretty heavy.'

'So?' he splutters. 'Stop being so frigging important to me then.'

Not a chance. I press a kiss to his cheek, his inflamed skin warming my lips. I feel his skin clench as he smiles and I gladly receive his lips as his face turns towards mine. I moan quietly at the familiar sensation of his tongue manipulating mine, sliding my hands over his chest and shoulders indulgently. He pushes me onto my back and hovers above me, running his fingers through my hair and over my face as he kisses me.

We part after a while and smile at each other fondly, knowing that it can't go any further tonight but at the same time feeling no need to take it further. We're both content to lay here in each other's arms, warmed by the knowledge that we're together and there's no one that can do anything to change that.

The movie's poignant ending comes a few hours later, and I'm ashamed to say that I get a little choked up. I switch the DVD player off with the remote and glance over at Cartman. He's fast asleep, even though his arm still firmly encircles my waist. I study his peaceful face and feel myself smiling as my eyes close.

Life definitely wouldn't be as enjoyable without him.

* * * * *

_I'm not overly enthusiastic about the slushy ending of this chapter, but what can ya do? I was gonna cut it out but it took me so long to word it that I didn't want to let the time I'd spent working on it go to waste._

_Anyway, I hope that you enjoyed this 'fun' chapter. Chapter 14 will focus a lot more on Cartman and his emotions (though still from Kyle's viewpoint) so get ready for some drama._

_Thanks for reading! Please review!_

_DD_

_xx_


	14. Release

_Author Notes: Thanks for reading and reviewing the last chapter, guys. I'm glad you enjoyed my light-hearted chapter, because emotions are gonna run a little high for here on out. This chapter is dedicated to CarnivalRiotX3, who has been so kind as to offer to make me a Kyle/Cartman video dedication on Youtube to what is currently one of my favourite songs. Thanks, dude! Enjoy!_

**Chapter 14 - Release**

The next day, Mom and Dad went with Ike to one of his hockey games, so Cartman was able to hang around until about mid afternoon. Even though we had the house to ourselves for hours, we still didn't have sex. Don't get me wrong – it's not like we were sitting on our hands at opposite ends of the room or anything. In fact, we barely moved from my bed all day. We just sorta lay there fully clothed, touching each other as we talked about nothing in particular. It was really kinda...romantic, I guess. It's so interesting that a relationship built on a foundation of hatred and lust has developed in this way. I think it says a lot about us, that we can just be together without tearing each other's clothes off. It makes the whole thing seem so much more real to me.

Even though I'd spent nearly twenty four hours with him, I felt pretty sad when Cartman finally left to go home. He couldn't even kiss me goodbye at the door because our poor timing meant that my dad's car pulled up the driveway just as he was leaving. It's okay though. I'll get to kiss him again soon enough. Stan called me up on the phone about an hour later to ask me about a part of his physics homework that was confusing him. We got to chatting and he asked me to hang out with him at the basketball courts on Monday after school. He didn't even mention my run-in with Wendy the other day, which I found a little strange. There's no way that she wouldn't have mentioned it to him, and there's no way that he wouldn't care if she had. Maybe he'll wanna talk about it on Monday. I'd better start thinking up some good excuses then.

On Sunday, I woke up feeling like shit. My blood sugar was high when I tested it in the morning, but taking my insulin didn't seem to help me perk up. I hate days like that – I can feel tired and worn down for an unpredictable length of time and there's nothing I can do about it. I could barely even focus on finishing my homework. Of course, I managed to keep enough energy in reserve to send text messages to Cartman throughout the day. The bill for my cell is going to be atrocious this month! The only trouble was every time my cell phone beeped, my mom questioned it. She kept asking me if I was seeing someone. I considered saying that it was just Cartman, but after the fiasco that was Friday night, I didn't really want to mention his name to her. My exhausted brain was slow to think up a lie, and I kinda stuttered and stumbled over my words, so she totally thinks I'm seeing someone now. She looked kinda excited at the prospect of me having a 'girlfriend' at long last. If only she knew the truth...

Sunday comes and goes without anything of any significance happening. Come nightfall, even though I've done nothing all day long, I just can't wait to get into bed and get some sleep. Another text comes through from Cartman as I'm settling under my covers.

'SO DOES UR STUF TASTE SWEETER WHEN UR BLD SUGA IZ HI? LOL! - EC'

That's fucking disgusting, but it makes me laugh anyway.

'NO IDEA. BET YOU'D LOVE TO FIND OUT! – KB'

'DAM RITE! NEWAY IM GNG 2 BED. BEING NICE 2 UR JOO FAMILY HAS WORN ME DOWN! – EC'

I roll my eyes. 'YEAH IT WEARS ME DOWN TOO! SLEEP WELL! X – KB'

'U 2. FEEL BETTER. – EC'

I place my cell phone on my bedside table and snuggle into my pillows. As sleepy as I am, I'm finding it hard to get comfortable. My bed feels so cold tonight. It's so much easier to sleep when he's here with me. I wonder if Cartman ever has trouble getting to sleep when I'm not by his side.

* * * * *

Cartman's well-wishing appeared to have worked as I wake up feeling much better, aside from my general dislike of Monday mornings. When I get to the school gates, Cartman is already there with Stan and Kenny. He doesn't look up when I approach, which isn't really unusual. I think he's in one of his strange moods as he's staring at the ground with a faraway look in his eye - the same look he had when he was staring out of the window at that girl's party. I've seen that same look a few times since then, but I haven't worked out what seems to cause it yet. I notice that Craig has joined us today also. Maybe that's what's put Cartman in a bad mood. I find Craig okay in small doses, but Cartman loathes the mere sight of him. When Craig notices me, he grins and starts reaching around in his backpack.

'Kyle, just the man I wanted to see! Remember that Rebecca girl that you dated in elementary school?'

I nod curtly, even though strictly speaking Rebecca Cotswold and I never officially went out on a date with each other. Having said that, Cartman and I have never officially been on a date either. Regardless, I'd prefer to downplay my supposed relationship with that skank as much as possible. Craig finds what he's looking for in his bag and pulls out a frayed edition of Crack Whore Magazine.

'Check it out!'

He flips the magazine open to a bookmarked page and waves the vulgar centrefold around for everyone to see. The jaws of both Kenny and Stan drop, though no doubt for very different reasons.

'Woo-hoo! Get a load of those fun-bags!'

'Oh my God! That's disgusting! She's our age!'

Craig laughs. 'Ah, don't be such a prude, Marsh! You're starting to sound like your bitch.'

I could just be totally paranoid, but I'm sure that Stan deliberately glances my way when Craig uses that word to describe Wendy.

'Yeah,' Kenny adds. 'It's not as if the pictures aren't tastefully done. They put a black bar over her pussy and everything.'

'Hmm,' I say thoughtfully with a nod. 'It's just a shame that they couldn't have put one over her face too.'

Craig, Kenny and Stan laugh at my catty remark.

'No doubt!' Craig says with a nod. 'Who let the fucking dogs out?'

For some reason, Cartman doesn't join in with our discussion. That's odd – he's usually the first one to make with the nasty comments. Kenny seems to notice something amiss too, taking the magazine from Craig and waving it in front of Cartman's face.

'Check it out, Cartman.'

Cartman crinkles his nose, but doesn't look up. 'No thanks.'

Stan, Craig and I exchange glances as Kenny claps his hand onto Cartman's shoulder.

'What's up with you, fatass? Did you collapse your house when you fell out of bed this morning or something?'

The other two laugh, but I don't. I can't even force a smile for the sake of keeping up the pretence. Kenny's right – Cartman looks...I don't know how he looks. He doesn't look like Cartman. His face looks like a visual definition of melancholy, like he should be hanging out with the goth kids or something. Cartman scowls at Kenny's hand and shrugs away from it.

'Up yours, Kenny. I'm not in the mood.'

Kenny shrugs, then turns his back on Cartman and returns to chatting to Craig. Stan starts fiddling with his cell phone as I study Cartman intently. I wish I knew what was wrong with him. Craig usually makes him angry rather than sad, so it can't be him. It can't be something I've done. He was fine last night when we were texting each other. Maybe he had an argument with Stan or Kenny before I arrived. I'd ask, but what if that's not what it is? This is driving me crazy. It's times like this that I wish people knew about us so it wouldn't seem strange if I just came out and asked him what was wrong. Just as I try to think of a way around asking Cartman what's up without arousing suspicion, Butters comes running up.

'Hey everybody!'

In spite of my worry for Cartman, I smile brightly at our newcomer and Stan mutters a hello. Craig and Kenny both just roll their eyes and return their magazine. It's so unfair that everyone is so aloof when it comes to Butters. He's a nice kid, if not a little irritating with his unrelenting optimism. I guess I have a soft spot for him, partly because he was my first gay crush. It was a very fleeting infatuation and I definitely wasn't in love with him or anything - I just thought he was really cute and I admired how good-hearted and intelligent he was. It makes me cringe when I look back on it, and it's made particularly weird when I think of who I like nowadays. You couldn't get two people more different in personality than Cartman and Butters. Oblivious to the fact that Cartman has 'fuck off and leave me alone' written all over him today, Butters saunters over and starts chattering to Cartman.

'Hiya Eric! How'd you do on our American history homework? I don't know where my head was at on Friday, but I totally forgot what pages Mrs Adams asked us to study. My dad was so mad at me for forgetting that he grounded me. He made sure I read the whole textbook just to be sure that I'd covered the right pages.'

I have to bite my tongue at this. Butters' dad is such a fucking prick. The way he treats his son is a disgrace. My mom has always been fairly strict, but at least there's some level of method to her madness. Mr Stotch's punishments for Butters' 'bad behaviour' have always been on the borderline of child abuse in my view.

'You can be sure that my brain was in a jumble come Sunday, boy howdy,' Butters continues, rubbing his temples pointedly. 'I tried to call you for help on Saturday morning, but your mom said that you'd been out all night.'

'Yeah,' Cartman replies flatly.

Butters frowns slightly. 'Your mom sure says some strange things to me when I call for you. It's okay, though. She's always real nice to me.'

'Oh, Cartman's mom is nice to **everyone**, Butters,' Kenny butts in with a smirk.

'Mm, I love it when she's **nice** to me,' Craig sniggers.

'Yeah, she's usually nice to me all night long,' Kenny laughs. 'She's nice to me on her back, on her knees, against the wall, in the-'

'Shut the fuck up, Kenny!!'

Everybody is visibly startled when Cartman suddenly shrieks, especially Butters who looks a little like he's about to cry. There's a long silence as everyone looks at each other blankly. Cartman briefly makes eye contact with me, but breaks it quickly. What the hell is wrong with him?

'Fuck this...'

Cartman shoves by Stan and storms off down the street away from school just as the bell rings. For some reason, we all stand and watch him walk away. I have to force my feet to remain still as my body shudders with the intense urge to follow him. When he disappears from sight, Craig lets out a low whistle.

'Jesus, what's up his ass?'

I wonder...

* * * * *

I couldn't concentrate at all in class. All I could think of was that strange wistful look on Cartman's face and that hateful tone to his voice when he snapped at Kenny. I wish I knew what the hell was wrong with him. My concern increased tenfold when it came to lunchtime and he still hadn't replied to the text message I'd sent him before my first class. It felt really strange, sitting at the lunch table without him there, but I think I was the only one who felt that way. Nobody even remarked on his whereabouts, not even Butters.

By the time the bell rings for final period, I can't take it anymore. I figure that I can afford to miss my final class and dash out of the school grounds. I walk so fast to Cartman's house that my legs are aching a little by the time I reach his front door. I have to knock three times before he answers, and he looks very surprised to see me. He smiles, but it's very forced.

'Kyle. What brings you here?'

He steps back from the doorway and lets me into his living room. I turn around to observe him as he closes the door. He still has that strange look on his face. Even his body language is totally different to usual confident stance – his head is lowered, his shoulders are slumped and his determined stride has slowed to an uncertain shuffle.

'I was just wondering where you'd disappeared off to,' I explain. 'I missed you at lunchtime today.'

Cartman crosses the room and sits down on the couch, letting out a short sardonic laugh.

'Really? Yeah wow, stop the presses. The resident fastass hasn't shown up for lunch.'

I frown at his sarcasm. 'That's not what I meant. What's wrong with you?'

He shrugs. 'Nothing.'

'Cartman, don't lie me. Why did you go off on one at Kenny like that?'

'That asshole had it coming. You don't like it when people call your mom a bitch, so why should I put up with shit like that about mine?'

'You were upset before Kenny even said anything. What is it? You were fine last night.'

'Look, it's...nothing. Just...I'm sick, is all. You were sick yesterday, and you didn't see me making a fuss about it.'

I sigh impatiently. He's bullshitting me, and I can tell by his face that he knows I know he's bullshitting me. There's an awkward silence as we both glance aimlessly around the room. It's just then that it occurs to me that something's missing...

'Where's your mom?'

Cartman reacts to my words as if they were a clap of thunder. His eyes dart around nervously before meeting mine, and he sighs in defeat.

'She's in the hospital.'

The truth at last! I guess that's why he was so sensitive when Kenny started talking about his mom.

'When did she go to hospital?' I say gently.

'Early this morning.'

'Is she okay?'

Cartman sighs tetchily. 'What part of 'she's in the hospital' didn't you understand? Of course she's not okay!'

Okay, I appreciate that he's upset, but there's no need for him to snap at me like that. I'm desperately trying to keep my temper here, but I'm coming close to losing it.

'Do you wanna stop being such an asshole?' I say through gritted teeth. 'I'm only trying to help.'

'Well, I don't remembering asking for your help.'

That does it! My temper is now officially lost.

'Fine! So sorry to have bothered you!'

I turn on my heel and stomp towards the front door. I hear him get up from the couch behind me and feel his hand on my shoulder just as I clutch at the doorknob.

'Wait! Kyle, I...'

I feel like telling him to fuck off and storming out of the house, but for whatever reason I don't. I glance back over my shoulder and peruse his sheepish expression cautiously. His brown eyes are so big and sad that he looks like a scolded puppy.

'I'm sorry,' he says softly. 'I'm just...I don't like to talk about my problems.'

I'm aware of this and appreciate how guarded he is, but when his problems are making him look and act in such a way, I'd really prefer him to tell me what's up. I hesitantly turn around to face him, removing my hand from the door handle and placing it over the hand that holds my shoulder.

'Cartman, you once promised me that I could trust you and that you'd never hurt me. I believed you, and now I'm making you that same promise. I won't hurt you, so please trust me. Talk to me.'

He stares at me for a moment then rolls his eyes, pulling his hand away from mine.

'You're not a psychotherapist yet, Kyle.'

That remark bewilders me. 'What does that have to do with anything?'

'Don't think you can use me as some fucking guinea pig.'

So much for promising to never hurt me, because he might as well have just socked me in the stomach. Does he honestly believe that I'm asking him what's wrong so I can write a fucking thesis on him?

'You know me better than that, Cartman! I just want you to know that if you need a friend to talk about your problems with, I'm here to listen.'

'That's exactly the problem, Kyle,' he spits harshly. 'You can never **just** listen. You always have to make a big deal out of every little thing. You can't just be told something and accept that that's the way it is. You have to analyze it and apply logic to it, and then you rush out and try to do something about it. You might be my boyfriend or whatever, but that doesn't mean that I have to like everything about you. Pussies like Stan might appreciate you fixing their lives, but I don't.'

I can't decide if I want to scream or cry. I don't understand why he's attacking me like this when I haven't done anything wrong.

'I don't want to fix you,' I say bluntly. 'And if you care to remember, me making a 'big deal' out of the 'little thing' of you discussing your feelings for me with a toy is the reason I'm your 'boyfriend or whatever' in the first place.'

That was a very good point, if I do say so myself. It's enough to send Cartman into retreat as he turns away from me and crosses the room to sit on the stairs. He puts his head in his hands and sighs deeply. Despite his unkind words, I think my heart breaks a little as I watch him silently. I could easily take the opportunity to leave, but I don't. Instead, I slowly approach the staircase and sit next to him. He doesn't flinch as my hand slides across his back.

'Look, I understand where you're coming from. There are times when I probably do impose on people and try to solve their problems.' My God, was that ever tough to admit! 'If you don't want me to do that, I'll respect your boundaries. But if something's hurting you, I wish you would tell me what it is. I don't like seeing you like this.'

'Don't fucking pity me,' he mutters, still not looking up.

'I don't. I care about you. There's a difference.'

He raises his head, but he still refuses to look at me.

'Cartman, I just want you to feel that you can talk to me. We're supposed to be a couple. If something's bothering you, I'm here for you.'

He glances over at me, scrutinising my eyes before looking away again.

'My mom got beat up by one of her clients.'

Holy shit, dude...I'm glad he's not looking at me now, because I probably look absolutely horrified by this revelation. No wonder he's pissed off. I'm surprised he hasn't hunted the fucker down and turned him into chilli by now. I rub his back soothingly as he steadily continues.

'I didn't see it happen, but I heard the front door slam and my mom crying. When I went downstairs to check on her, she was laid out on the living room floor, naked and covered in blood. I just dragged her into her car and drove her to the hospital. They said that she wasn't hurt too bad, but she hit her head on the coffee table so they want to keep her in overnight just in case.'

He pauses and lets out a deep sigh. I feel so awful that he had to deal with that by himself. I really wish he'd called me, though I don't know what I could have done to help. His jaw clenches and he swallows hard. I can feel his body trembling under my touch. He hugs himself tightly, rocking slightly as a deep shuddery breath fills his lungs.

'It isn't the first time this has happened.' His voice lowers to a whisper. 'I just feel so...powerless. Every night, another creep uses her body. Every night, she's smoking or injecting fuck knows what into her body. Every night, she puts herself in danger. And it really...it really scares me. The thought of losing her just...'

He chokes on his next words as a single tear rolls down his cheek. I can't remember the last time I saw Cartman cry from emotional pain. Seeing him so distraught physically hurts me – my heart aches and the lump in my throat threatens to stop me from breathing. When I wrap my arms around him, a strangled sob escapes his lips as he returns my embrace, burying his face into the crook of my neck.

'She doesn't deserve this, Kyle. Why does she do it to herself? She's a smart woman. She could do so much better. Why is she wasting herself walking the streets and doing crack? I'm just so sick of being scared for her. I feel like I'm just waiting on a phone call telling me she's been found dead in a ditch somewhere.'

I can't think of a single thing to say to help this situation. That's probably for the best - I don't want to make things worse. I just want him to feel okay again, to not speak with such a strained and wounded voice. I never realised that he felt so strongly about his mom's behaviour and I feel like such a jerk for my lack of perception. I stroke his hair lightly as he sniffles and sighs. The tension slowly leaves his body as he regains his composure.

'You know, people wonder why I'm such an asshole,' he says quietly. 'They wonder why I'm always so fucking selfish. It's because caring about other people sucks. You have no idea how hard it's been for me to be like this with you, to admit how I feel for you, to care so much about you while living in constant fear that the rug could be pulled out from under me at a second's notice. It just seems that every time I care about someone, from my non-existent father to my fucking cat, I always end up losing them in the end. Looking out for number one is just so much easier. You have nothing to lose.'

I nod. This sentiment isn't really news to me.

'_How can I ask for more and risk losing what I already have?'_

Those words have never made so much sense as they do right now.

'You'll never lose me,' I murmur. 'I promise.'

'You can't keep a promise like that,' he whispers.

'I can and I will.'

'How?'

I pull back from our embrace to look at him. His eyes are slightly bloodshot and his cheeks are stained with tear tracks. He looks a little uncomfortable with me seeing him like this, so I give him a reassuring smile and wipe the tears from his face as I speak.

'Whenever I imagine the future in my mind, you know what I see? I see Stan marrying Wendy, having a family and moving away to Denver to play for the Broncos. I see Kenny hitchhiking around the States with Craig like they've always planned. And you...all I can see when it comes to you is that you're with me. You're always going to be with me, because I just can't imagine it any other way.'

My heart skips a beat as a loath though content smile breaks out across Cartman's face.

'Me neither,' he says. 'I just can't seem to lose sight of you, you bothersome know-it-all Jew.'

'And I'd be hard pressed to lose sight of you, you fucking fatass.'

He laughs loudly, genuinely. I smile and press my lips to his. This is how it should be. He should be smiling all the time, whether it's because he's being a smug asshole or because he's legitimately happy. He should never have to be sad. It just doesn't suit him. He laughs again, a little scornfully as he hides his face in his hand.

'I can't believe I just fucking cried in front of you. I'm such a fuck-up.'

I can't believe it either – it was certainly an experience. One I don't want to relive - I never want to see those tears ever again.

'It's okay to cry, dude. I don't think any less of you for it. In fact, I think more of you. And you're not a fuck-up. You're just a little rough around the edges. Just the way I like you.'

He stares at me in awe, a positively adorable smile tugging at his lips as he reaches up to stroke my hair.

'I really don't deserve you,' he says huskily.

I'm so overwhelmed by him saying this that I blush and laugh nervously.

'Well...you have me,' I say with a shrug. 'So make the most of it.'

We smile and gaze at each other for a long moment before things start to feel a little awkward. We're not usually so saccharine with each other, so it's a little embarrassing. Cartman reacts to the discomfort first, clearing his throat and backing up from me a little.

'Err...thanks. You know, for listening.'

I smile casually. 'It's okay. Thank **you** for trusting me. I know it must have been really hard for you to tell me all of that stuff.'

I impulsively put my hand over his, and for once he doesn't pull away. Instead, he repositions his wrist so that our fingers can intertwine. He stares at our joined hands, chuckling under his breath.

'It's funny, in a way my mom's bullshit has taught me a lot about my feelings for you,' he muses. 'Seeing the way men are with her has made me realise that there's such a difference between love and lust. Even though there's nothing I enjoy more than ploughing the shit out of you, I could never treat you the way those assholes treat her.'

I grin – both at the crudeness of his expression and because he's just implied that he loves me. But I'll overlook that for now. I think he's had enough emotional trauma for one day without me pointing out an indirect love confession.

'Did you say your mom is staying in hospital overnight?'

He nods.

'Want me to stay with you?'

He looks up at me and smirks. 'You're a mind reader, Jew.'

I've never been so happy to hear him call me that. It's a sure sign that he's returning to normal. I lean in to kiss him. Just as our lips are about to meet, my cell phone rings. I consider ignoring it, but then I suddenly realise who it probably is. I fish around in my coat pocket and sure enough, it's Stan. My watch tells me it's been twenty minutes since school ended. Oops. I prepare myself to be chastised when I flip my phone open.

'Kyle? Where are you?'

'Dude...Listen, I forgot we were supposed to be meeting. I'm so sorry.'

There's a pause, then Stan laughs. 'Kyle, you dumbass! You went home?'

I consider saying yes, but my guilty conscience stops me. I've already douched out on Stan by not meeting up with him – lying to him for the eight millionth time is like adding insult to injury.

'No, I...I cut last period to go check on Cartman.'

Another pause. 'You what?'

'Cut last period to che-'

'Yeah yeah, I heard you. I just couldn't quite believe what I was hearing.'

I glance over at Cartman, who is watching me curiously. I clear my throat and return to my phone call.

'I was just worried about him. He was acting really weird today.'

'He acts really weird every day!'

'You know what I mean. He just wasn't himself.'

'So what?'

'Look, his mom's...'

Cartman makes a small sound of alarm and I hold my hand up reassuringly. I'm gonna have to lie here – I can't tell Stan the truth about this situation, it's not my place to.

'His mom's gone into hospital for a tonsillectomy and he's a bit freaked out by it. It's understandable considering what happened to him when he had his tonsils out.'

I look at Cartman, who looks a little amused by my lie.

'So what are you saying?' Stan says, a little impatiently.

'I'm saying I'm really sorry, but Cartman needs me here right now.' Another pause. 'Can we, err...take a rain check maybe?'

Stan sighs. 'Why does Cartman need **you**? He hates you.'

He sounds so pissed off.

'Exactly. I'm letting him rip on me for a while. He needs a little of that right now.'

'And what, you're quite happy to let him do that?'

'Well, yeah. Stupid Jew this, dumb Jew that. It's, you know...cheering him up.'

Another long pause.

'You're allowing your alleged worst enemy to rip on you for being Jewish in order to cheer him up?'

I guess it does sound pretty retarded. What can I say? I'm just not a very good liar.

'That's just the kind of person I am, Stan.'

'I guess...'

He totally doesn't believe me.

'Anyway, how about tomorrow night after school?' I suggest sheepishly.

'Will you show up?'

As much as I deserved that, it still made me cringe.

'I promise.'

''Kay, cool.'HeHe

He hangs up without another word. I feel so guilty. I'm so sick of lying to him. I'm starting to think I'm just gonna have to bite the bullet and tell Stan about me and Cartman. He wouldn't have sounded so pissed off just then if he knew the truth. He's totally the kind of guy who would appreciate why I wouldn't be able to leave someone I love when they're upset.

Oh my God! Did I just say that I love Cartman?

Wow...I wonder, do I really? Maybe I'm just echoing his implications from earlier. I don't know...Even if I do, I'd better not say anything tonight. He's too emotional right now. He'll probably just think I'm saying it to cheer him up or something. But, wow...

I've just realised that I'm sitting on the stairs alone. Where the hell did Cartman go? He must have moved from the staircase without me noticing while I was on the phone. I find him straight away, sitting on the couch staring into space, arms folded across his chest. He looks up at me as I approach and watches me as I sit down beside him.

'That was Stan,' I say dumbly.

He grins and gives me a 'no, duh!' look. I grin back and lean into him. This time, our lips meet without interruption. I cup his face in my hands, kissing him deeply as he pulls me close. I pull back when I hear someone's stomach growl, though I can't tell if it's mine or Cartman's.

'Have you eaten yet?' I ask. 'I could make you something.'

He snorts. 'No thanks. I've already been to the hospital once today.'

I roll my eyes. At least he's got his sense of humour back. 'Are you sure there isn't anything I can do for you?'

'Well, now that you mention it...'

He grins and presses his lips to mine again, pushing me down onto my back on the couch. He straddles my hips, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth as he starts to unbutton my coat. I'm a little surprised that he's in the mood for this right now, but I guess if it takes his mind off his mom, I'm happy to oblige. We quickly shed our t-shirts, and I nip enthusiastically at Cartman's throat as he unfastens my jeans. We seem to have totally missed out our usual foreplay, but I guess considering the circumstances, it's forgivable. I stroke the bulge in his trousers when he captures my lips again, and he gives my tongue a few lascivious sucks as he drags my jeans and underwear down past my knees. I kick off my shoes and socks so that I can wriggle out of my clothes, kicking the denim material to the floor.

Cartman's lips assault my chest and neck as I quickly reach down to unzip his trousers, my fingers trailing over the skin of his thighs and ass when I tug the material down over his hips. After he discards his clothing, he presents a condom and a small bottle of lube from out of nowhere. It's funny when he does that – he's like some sort of sex magician. I smile to myself at this as his lips claim mine again, his free hand running through my hair as our hardened cocks press together. To my surprise, Cartman abruptly moves from on top of me and lies next to me on the couch on his side, gazing at me approvingly.

'You know Kyle, you've put in a lot of good behaviour recently,' he drawls. 'You're always so attentive, so obedient. You've given me so much that I think you deserve a little something from me in return.'

I watch him move again so that he's on his back. Once he's comfortable, he grabs my arm and pulls me up on top of him, pushing the condom and lube into the palm of my hand. He watches me expectantly. I look from him to the equipment in my hand and back again.

'What?' I ask stupidly.

He rolls his eyes, a slight tinge of scarlet shading his cheeks.

'I promised I'd think about it, remember? I've thought about it. And I'm ready.'

He can't possibly mean that he wants me to...

'I'm ready for you to take my innocence.'

Shit! My eyes widen. I suddenly feel nervous. I've never done this before, what if I screw up?

'Are you sure?' I ask quietly.

Cartman seems to identify the worry in my eyes and reaches up to stroke my face.

'Kyle...I trust you.'

I've never heard his voice so sincere. Reassured, I nod and tear open the condom packet. He takes the latex sheath from me and rolls it over my cock.

'Don't ever tell anyone I let you do this though,' he growls under his breath.

I snigger a little as I kiss him, coating my fingers in lube and gently sliding them inside him. I'm not so nervous about this part – I've prepared myself before so I've had plenty of practice doing this. I study Cartman's face as moans softly, his hips twitching as I tickle his prostate with my fingertips. When I'm happy that he's adequately slick, I rub the remaining lube on my hand over my cock. I kneel comfortably between his legs, glancing up at his face to see if he's ready. He meets my gaze and nods determinedly. Very slowly, I enter him and we both groan as his tightness engulfs my cock. I gradually bury myself to the hilt and can feel him trying to relax his muscles around me. I hold still for as long as I can. It's a strange sensation to get used to, and Cartman's pain threshold isn't exactly the highest.

'Jesus Christ!' he gasps.

'You okay?' I murmur.

He writhes awkwardly beneath me, clutching at my hips as he tries to familiarise himself with the feeling of my cock inside him.

'Jesus...Christ.'

I giggle in between pants. 'You sound Mr Slave.'

He stops writhing to glare up at me, his discomfort obviously forgotten about.

'Fuck you, Kyle!'

I smirk. 'No, fuck **you**.'

I slowly pull out then drive back into him a little quicker. I repeat this process a couple of times and each time Cartman responds with an agonised yelp. For a moment, I don't think he's gonna get used to this but after a few more thrusts, his yelps start to diminish into moans of pleasure. As I continue thrusting, I reach down in front of me and start stroking his engorged cock. When I'm sure he's comfortable enough with what I'm doing, I speed up my pace and alter my angle slightly so that I can brush his prostate with my cock. He lets out a howl of rapture and I know I've hit the spot.

Now that Cartman seems happy, I can focus on enjoying this role reversal myself. I can't believe I'm actually fucking Cartman. Feeling his tense opening seizing my cock is so hot. As terrible as it sounds, my sadistic side is filling my little Jewish head with fantasies of holding down a Nazi and fucking him in the ass. I guess this isn't an entirely inaccurate sentiment.

It doesn't take long for the foreign sensations to get the better of us, and we hit our climaxes almost simultaneously. I release a long growl of satisfaction as Cartman's tightness milks the seed from my cock. Cartman follows me, his cum splashing out onto my fingers and across our sweaty torsos. As we both get our breath back, I remove my condom and reach over to the coffee table to grab a tissue from a box of Kleenex, dabbing up the mess we've made of ourselves. When I'm finished tidying up, Cartman pulls me down on top of him and kisses my lips gratefully.

'No wonder you always enjoy having a cock in your ass so much!'

I'll take that as a compliment. Cartman pulls a blanket out from under the couch and drapes it over both of us. He shifts a little beneath me, his face slightly contorted in discomfort. I smirk playfully.

'A little sore, are we?'

He scowls. 'Hey! I was a delicate virgin flower before you defiled me!'

'Whatever!' I laugh. 'I should have known that you wouldn't have the pain threshold to be the bottom.'

'Suck my balls, Kyle! You whimpered like a fucking pussy your first time too.'

I press my lips to his cheek to reassure him that I'm just kidding, then rest my cheek comfortably against his chest. We lay in silence for a long time, breathing in each other's scent and watching the room gradually go darker as dusk sets in outside. Watching the sunset in South Park has never been overly awe-inspiring, but I bet Cartman could take a damn nice photograph of it and make it look magnificent.

'Know what we should do?' I say.

Cartman chuckles. 'That, more often?'

'No. Well, yeah...' I grin. 'But that's not what I was gonna say. We should take a trip to Colorado Springs together before we start college.'

'Why?'

I look at up Cartman's confused face. 'Because it's really nice there. It'll give you some natural beauty to take pictures of.'

'But why go all the way there to observe natural beauty when I have you right here?'

I can tell by his tone and the twinkle in his eyes that he's kidding.

'Shut the fuck up!' I laugh.

Cartman smirks. 'Seriously, you'd make the perfect subject. I'd love to take pictures of you sometime. Naked, of course.'

I cry out in mock horror. 'No way! I know how those things end up on the Internet.'

'Would you at least let me draw you naked then?'

I raise an eyebrow. 'I think you've watched 'Titanic' a few too many times.'

'Fuck, no! That movie's for queer-mos like Butters!'

Cartman blushes and looks away. He must have forgot that he reluctantly admitted to me the other night that 'Titanic' is one of his favourite movies. I laughed for ages because I didn't think for one second that it was the kind of movie that Cartman would be into. And I personally thought it sucked balls. Seriously, what a drawn-out sentimental piece of crap. But each to their own, I guess. Cartman glances back at me, stroking my hair thoughtfully.

'Let me take a picture of you.'

'Dude, no!' I seriously don't want anyone to have a picture of me naked. I'm not ashamed of my body, I just don't wanna risk sharing it with everyone. 'Why do you need one anyway?'

He shrugs. 'So I know what you look like naked at all times.'

'Why do you need a photo for that? I have every inch of **your** hot body committed to memory by now.'

He tries to voice a comeback, but no words come. Instead, he just smiles smugly. I love making him smile like that. There's a lot I love about him...

'So, a trip somewhere alone together?'

I shrug. 'Why not? I think it's a nice idea for something to do to celebrate the end of high school.'

'And what excuse would we have for going on this trip somewhere alone together?'

'Why would we need an excuse? I think I'd be quite happy telling everyone the truth by then.'

I've never seen Cartman's face change from surprised to delighted so quickly. I'm still quite shocked that he's so okay with the idea of everyone knowing about us, but I'm happy to roll with it. Cartman pulls me to his chest in a tight hug which I gladly return. I sigh and nuzzle my face into his chest, enjoying the warmth of his body.

'Kyle?' he says softly. 'I'm...really sorry for the way I spoke to you earlier. I just-'

I reach up and press my fingers to his lips to silence him.

'It's okay, Cartman. I understand.'

Next time, I probably won't be as understanding. But I have a good feeling that there isn't going to be a next time. Cartman sighs deeply and gives me another tight squeeze before flinging the blanket off of us.

'In any case, all this taking it up the ass has given me an appetite. I think we have some spare ribs if you're hungry.'

He winks at me as he gets up and walks into the kitchen, still completely naked. I smile as I listen to him humming one of the old 80's rock songs that he loves so much while he rattles around in the refrigerator. These past few days - today in particular - have been a real testament to the strength of our relationship, and I really think that we've grown a lot as a couple in a very short period of time. The fact that the L word was randomly flying around earlier puts even more strength behind my belief that this really is gonna work out for us. Maybe it's about time for me to just throw caution to the wind and let everyone know what's going on with us. I mean, what's the worst thing my mom can do if she finds out anyway? I've been putting a lot of thought into the best way to bring our relationship out into the open, and I think I'm ready to take the first step. It should be relatively straightforward.

Step 1 - Tell Stan.

* * * * *

_I hope Cartman's breakdown didn't bother too many people. I just can't really get to grips with the idea that in the Kyle/Cartman relationship, Cartman would be the one with the majority of the emotional strength. Cartman likes to make out that he's strong, but it's blatantly a front. I think deep down, he's a very fragile young man. It just seems more likely that controlled, methodical Kyle would be the one to hold everything together. At least that's my point of view. Take it or leave it. ;)_

_Just so you know, remember how I said I was gonna do twenty chapters for Kyle in Chains? Well, due to a wave of new ideas that have hit me over the past few days, I'm **considering** making it even longer, possibly 25-30 chapters. This will all depend on whether or not my new ideas turn out to be good ones. I'll do some more planning and let you know next time!_

_Thanks for reading!_

_DD_

_xx_


	15. Exposure

_Author Notes: Howdy-ho, my dears! Thanks for reading the last chapter and for all of your kind reviews. I didn't realise how long this chapter was until I got near the end of it. I think it's something like 8,600 words. Wow...I need to get a life. Seriously, you guys... Enjoy!_

**Chapter 15 - Exposure**

Liane came home early the next morning while Cartman and I were having breakfast together. She didn't seem at all surprised to see me there. I guess I've been hanging around the Cartman household enough lately to have blended in with the upholstery by now. She cheerfully told us that the doctor had prescribed her some painkillers to aid the recovery from her 'operation'. I noticed Cartman sadly eyeing the stitched-up lesion on her forehead and I gave his hand a discreet squeeze under the breakfast table. He returned my gesture with a weak though legitimate smile. In a way, seeing him so vulnerable has made me like him more. It reminded me that despite all of his bravado he's still human, and that he is in fact capable of caring for someone other than himself. It's kinda like my analogy of that remake of Halloween – the more insight that I'm getting into Cartman's personality, the less there is to be afraid of.

We walked to school via my house so that I could stop off to take my insulin. I keep meaning to take some of the damn stuff to Cartman's place so that I don't have to keep coming home every morning after I've stayed with him. Cartman didn't come inside with me. A wise decision – it's best to avoid my mother at all costs in the morning, especially if your name happens to be Eric Cartman. I took my shot as quickly as possible so that I could get the hell out of there and avoid any awkward conversations. I'm pretty sure that my parents thought I'd spent last night with my 'girlfriend'. I just spun my usual 'a friend needed my help' story, which wasn't necessarily a lie for a change, and mumbled something about being late for school before bolting out of the front door.

As we continued on our way, I filled Cartman in on my thoughts about telling Stan. He seemed supportive of the idea, but suggested that we should probably get together first to plan how best to go about doing it. I agreed – Stan can be very sensitive and he won't be happy that I've been lying to him, so I need to be careful about how I break the news. Cartman's input should prove invaluable in this situation – if anyone knows how to charm their way out of trouble, it's him.

Nobody commented on the fact that we arrived at the school gates together, and nobody mentioned Cartman's blow up from the previous day. I don't think anyone would have dared, lest it happen again. The day passed at a steady pace, and everything felt like it was truly back to normal come lunchtime when I saw Cartman in his seat at our usual table. Not having him there yesterday really shook me for some reason – like it was a totally unwelcome break in my usual routine. It seems ridiculous, since we barely even speak to each other around other people unless it's to 'argue'. I guess just knowing he's there is enough to put my mind at rest.

After my last class, I made a beeline for the basketball courts so as to not let Stan down again. He arrived shortly after me and appeared to be acting normally enough. His infuriation from yesterday had apparently totally subsided, much to my relief. For the most part, Stan is unbelievably mellow and doesn't get mad often. But when it happens, it's pretty scary.

We play a little one on one for a while, and then just take turns shooting hoops as Stan tells me about an up and coming football game he's playing in.

'I mean, the Conifer team are pretty strong. But with Token almost totally recovered from his knee injury, I think we'll have the edge over them.'

'That's cool.'

'So how's Cartman?'

Stan's out of the blue question is enough of a distraction to make me totally miss the shot I take. I scurry to retrieve our ball as I consider my answer. This is the perfect opportunity to reacquaint myself with the concept of telling the truth, so I decide to see how long I can go without having to telling a lie.

'Err, he's okay. His mom came home this morning and she's fine, so he's happy.'

Stan nods slowly. 'That's good. So you stayed over his place?'

'Yeah.'

That's two questions answered and no fibs yet. Well done, Kyle!

'Again?'

The reproachful tone in his voice takes me by surprise. I bounce the basketball rhythmically on the ground in front of me for lack of anything better to do.

'Yeah,' I reply. 'Why? What's wrong with that?'

I try to sound as casual as possible, but my voice quakes a little. I don't think Stan picks up on it though, since he's a little preoccupied with feigning nonchalance himself.

'Nothing much. I'm just curious as to why you've been spending so much time with somebody who makes your life miserable. You some kind of masochist or something?'

For obvious reasons, I laugh nervously at his light-hearted accusation. 'We're not spending **that much** time together.'

That was kind of a half-truth. Cartman and I are spending more time together than we used to, but it's still not that much in retrospect. I would gladly spend more.

'Then how come he stayed over at your place on Friday night?' Huh? I can't remember telling Stan about that. He smirks a little at my surprised reaction. 'I spoke to Ike on Saturday and he said that you'd let the 'fat Nazi kid' sleep over.'

Shit. I forgot that Stan coaches Ike's hockey team.

'He...came over to do homework.'

Again, not really a lie – we **did** do homework together on Friday.

'All night long? You have like two classes together.'

Damn it. I was kinda hoping that Stan would overlook that minor detail. I sigh heavily, trying to keep my cool.

'Look, Cartman's falling behind with a few of his classes. The retard wanted my help and he didn't want anyone to know he was asking for it.'

An all out lie, and not a very good one either. Even if his life depended on it, Cartman would never ask for my help outright - and Stan knows it. He raises an eyebrow sceptically.

'Really? What classes?'

I suddenly draw a blank. Goddamn it! I know Cartman's school schedule by heart. Why is it that all of a sudden, I can't remember a single class that he takes?

'I don't...coach him on specific subjects. I just give him overall study tips, like how to format his work better and stuff.' Stan rolls his eyes as I pass the basketball to him. I cock my head to the side. 'What? Don't you believe me?'

He shakes his head. 'Honestly? No, I don't.'

I glare at him for that, though I don't know why. I have no right to get mad at him for doubting me – I **am **lying to him, after all. But it still upsets me that he doesn't believe me, if that makes sense.

'Stan, you always get mad when Cartman and I fight. Now you're getting mad because we're getting along. What more do you want from us?'

Observing how annoyed I look, Stan matches my glare although his voice remains calm.

'Well, since you ask, I'd prefer it if you weren't verbally abusive to my girlfriend because of him.'

He turns to look skywards and shoots the ball. It goes straight through the centre of the hoop and bounces on the asphalt a couple of times before rolling to my feet. I stoop to pick it up. I was wondering when this issue was gonna be raised.

'Look, that just kind of...slipped out. But in all fairness, Wendy was the one who picked the argument with Cartman. And what she said to him was totally uncalled-for.'

'Maybe, but since when does Cartman need you jumping to his defence?'

Since when does Wendy need Stan jumping to hers? The girl has a defensive streak long and wide enough to have its own zip code. As much as I'd like to, I don't say this aloud. I value my life.

'He's just been a good friend to me recently. He's really starting to behave better.'

Stan snorts derisively. 'Yeah, until the next Mel Gibson movie comes out. I thought you would have learned by now that trusting Cartman is never a smart thing to do.'

I guess I'm a slow learner. Clearly, telling Stan the truth is going to be harder than I first thought. It looks like Cartman and I have a lot of planning to do tonight and since I really don't want to continue arguing, I toss the basketball back to Stan and walk over to where I dumped my coat.

'Listen dude, I'll catch you later. I have somewhere to be.'

Stan rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time. 'Let me guess...Cartman's?'

'Yes,' I reply, sounding a little harsher than I intended to. 'He needs some help with some math problems.'

I'm pretty sure Cartman takes math... Stan shrugs casually, turning back towards the hoop as I slip my coat on.

'Okay then...have fun with your new best friend.'

I'm stunned as Stan shoots the ball violently, causing it to deflect off the backboard with a harsh thud. Oh, how fucking childish! I can't believe I just heard that from him! I'm so pissed off that I can practically hear my blood bubbling beneath the surface of my skin. I hastily leave before I succumb to the urge to chew him out for his pathetic behaviour. I practically stomp all of the way to Cartman's place as Stan's tantrum replays over and over in my head. For every step I take, the memory pisses me off even more, and I must look absolutely furious by the time I'm knocking at the front door. Cartman answers, raising an eyebrow when he sees my annoyed face.

'Woah! Who lit the fuse on your tampon, Jew?'

'Stan. We had a stupid fight.'

Cartman sniggers. 'Aw, and I missed it? You guys' fights are always hilariously melodramatic. Better than soaps, seriously!'

Ignoring the glare I shoot him, Cartman steps back so that I can access his house. I practically tear off my coat and am surprised when Cartman takes it from me and hangs it up by the front door. His gentlemanly gesture cools my temper somewhat, and I glance around the empty living room.

'Where's your mom?'

Cartman shrugs. 'Upstairs sleeping. So what was this fight about? Come, sit down. Tell Uncle Eric all about it.'

He takes a seat on the couch, gesturing for me to join him. I frown slightly.

'Uncle Eric? Dude, that's creepy.'

I try to sit beside Cartman, but he grabs me around the waist and pulls me into his lap, balancing me on his knee like I'm a little kid. He's not going to let me move, so I might as well make myself comfortable.

'Was it the Wendy thing?' he asks as he smoothes out my dishevelled hair. 'I told you that it would come back to bite you in the ass.'

I shake my head. 'He mentioned it, but that wasn't his main issue. He was just asking a load of questions about us and why we're together so much lately. I think he may suspect something.'

'Give the man a fucking medal,' Cartman says sarcastically, rolling his eyes. 'Took him long enough to figure it out. What exactly does he suspect?'

'He thinks you're my new best friend.'

'He actually said that?' I nod. Cartman laughs scornfully. 'Wow. I didn't realise that we were back to being nine years old again.'

'You should have seen his reaction when I told him I was coming over here to see you.'

Cartman frowns. 'Oh, so that's not okay but it's fine for him to bail out on you to be with the she-hippie all the time? Fucking hypocrite.'

I would have to agree. I'll freely admit that it used to bother me that Stan ditches me for Wendy so much. He'd always say 'Dude, she's my girlfriend. What can I do?' He doesn't really have the right to complain now that the shoe is on the other foot - though in fairness I guess that he doesn't actually know that the shoe is on the other foot. Still, it's pretty unfair that I'm being chastised for spending time with someone else. I feel Cartman's soothing fingers massaging my shoulders and lean back into his touch.

'I'm gonna have to tell him,' I say quietly.

'You're not worried about your mom finding out any more?'

I shudder. 'Of course I am. But I need to tell Stan, if only to make this whole situation easier for us. It should make him feel better too.'

Cartman sniggers. 'Yeah, I'm sure he'll feel much better when you say, 'It's cool, Stan. Cartman isn't my best friend - I'm just fucking him, is all.''

I have to laugh at how accurate Cartman's imitation of my voice is. 'Well, at least I won't have to lie to him anymore.'

He shrugs. 'Okay, if you're sure. So how do you wanna do it?'

'I dunno,' I sigh. I'll think of something.'

'I'll tell him for you.'

'For the last time, no!'

I mentally block out Cartman's laughter as I try to focus my mind on the task at hand. It'll definitely be best if I tell Stan by myself – it might unnerve him if Cartman is there too. It'll probably make him feel more comfortable if I did it at his house rather than mine. And that way if the worst happens and he freaks out, my mom won't overhear. Suddenly, Cartman's voice penetrates my thoughts.

'If you had to choose between me and Stan, who would you pick?'

It's not a serious question, but it's still not a very cool thing to ask.

'Don't be an asshole!' I growl.

I make an angry face to discourage Cartman's chuckling, but I think it only makes it worse.

'Seriously, if someone had a gun pointed at me and Stan, and told you that you had to pick one of us to live, who would you pick?'

I sigh. 'I'd rather that they shoot **me **than allow any harm to come to either one of you.'

'Don't try to cutesy your way out of answering the question, you sneaky Jew-weasel.'

'It's a fucking horrible question, you fat asshole!'

He grins at me – I forgot that he likes it when I'm angry.

'So, you like me as much as you like Stan?'

I gradually return the smile, nodding. 'In fact, I think I like you just a little bit more.'

'Oh really? And why is that?'

Cartman's smile fades a little as I move from his lap but intensifies once again when I kneel astride his hips and wrap my arms around his neck.

'You're a much better kisser,' I say breathily with a wink.

Cartman recognises his cue, closing the distance between us. Our lips aren't together for long as Cartman swiftly moves his attention to my neck. His hands slide underneath my t-shirt, eager fingertips tickling my ribs and teasing my chest. Ah well...I suppose we'll have plenty of time to talk about Stan later. Cartman's lips leave me for a second as he removes my t-shirt and kisses the newly exposed skin. I start to make a purring noise in response to the attention he's giving me and feel a stirring in my jeans. I cup his face in my hands, lifting his chin so that our lips can meet again. Cartman opens his mouth to me, welcoming my tongue to intertwine with his as I start unbuttoning his shirt. Just as he reaches for my belt buckle, the front door swings open. Everything seems to go in slow motion as a familiar figure enters Cartman's living room.

'Kyle!?'

Startled, Cartman and I jump apart and turn to face Stan. He stands frozen and rigid in the doorway, his eyes wide as they stare at us disbelievingly. Oh my God...I try to say something, but I can't. There's isn't a lie in the world that I could tell that would be convincing enough to rationalize this situation. I can feel my face grow red, a stark contrast to Stan's which has drained of all colour. After an agonisingly long moment of unadulterated awkwardness, Stan abruptly snaps out of his trance, hesitantly dropping something to the floor.

'You, err...f-forgot your bag.' he stammers.

Like an emotionless zombie, he slowly turns and walks back out of the house. I don't think I've ever moved so fast in my life. I leap off the couch, throw my t-shirt on and hurl myself through the front door after him. I can't let Stan get away without explaining things to him. I just hope that I can catch him in time.

Thankfully, he's stopped outside to throw up on the sidewalk.

'Stan, wait!'

He turns his body in my direction, but can't bring himself to look me in the eye. Once again, I find myself unable to speak. How can I make my best friend understand what he just saw? What the fuck do I say to break this asphyxiating tension? Cartman dashes up behind me. He stops at my side, and I can see he's glaring at Stan.

'You ever heard of knocking, asshole?'

That wasn't the most ideal tension breaker I could have asked for, but it did the job. 'Stan, I can explain.'

Stan shrugs, still not making eye contact. 'What's there to explain? I get it, Kyle.'

I glance at Cartman, then back at Stan.

'Err...You do?'

'Yeah...that was a joke, right?' Oh, man... When I don't reply, Stan continues. 'You saw me coming and said 'Hey, I bet it would really freak Stan out if we got naked and started making out together!' Well, you got me!' His forced laughter makes me wince. 'Good one, guys! You really got me going there.'

That's a brilliant explanation. I wish I could just agree with it, but I can't lie to my best friend anymore.

'Stan...we didn't see you coming.'

Even though I'm a good seven feet away from him, I can hear Stan's breathing becoming erratic. His shaking fingers rake through his raven-black hair as he starts pacing like a caged animal on the sidewalk.

'No way, dude...no fucking way...'

Cartman sighs irritably. 'Calm down, you fucking pansy.'

Stan abruptly stops pacing and looks up at us, eyes blazing.

'Don't tell me to calm down, fatass! What the fuck is this, Kyle?'

I flinch. I hate it when Stan yells. Such a loud angry voice just sounds so alien coming from him. I breathe deeply.

'I didn't want you to find out like this. I was gonna tell you properly.'

'Tell me what, exactly?'

His harsh voice cuts right through me.

'We're...Cartman and I are...'

'Butt buddies?' Cartman offers, most unhelpfully.

Both Stan and I glare at Cartman for a second before turning back to look at each other. Stan's confused, questioning blue eyes send a cold shiver down my spine. I sigh, nodding hesitantly.

'We're...together, Stan.'

He stares back at me wordlessly, the only movement in his body being that of his chest rapidly heaving like he's just run a marathon. I'm a little concerned that he's gonna hyperventilate actually.

'Aw...no!' he suddenly explodes. 'No, no, no, no, no!'

'Yes!' I insist.

'But...you hate each other!' Stan splutters. 'Kyle, Cartman **hates** you! He's tried to kill you before. How can you do this after all he's put you through?'

'I know it might seem totally insane.'

'Yeah, no shit!'

'Please just give me a chance to explain this to you.'

'Okay, explain.'

Stan folds his arms over his chest, glowering at me expectantly. Oh boy... Where do I begin? At the beginning, I guess would be appropriate...

'It started the night of that girl's party. I went back to Cartman's place because I didn't wanna go home wasted and get shit from my mom for it. And we just...it all just happened from there.'

Stan rolls his eyes. 'So basically, he took advantage of you while you were drunk?'

'Hey! I'll have you know, **he** came onto **me**!'

I'm glad Cartman is here for moral support and all, but I really wish he'd shut the fuck up. Fortunately, Stan appears to be ignoring him.

'I don't understand this, Kyle. Why would you let him do...**that** to you? Do you honestly think that he cares about you? This is Cartman we're talking about here!'

'He's different now, Stan.'

'No, he isn't! He's still the same ignorant racist son of a bitch that he's always been.'

'He's better than he used to be. You don't understand how we are when we're together.'

'Really? Because all I ever see when you're together is Cartman ripping on you for being Jewish and treating you like crap.'

'I treat him better than you do,' Cartman growls. 'You're his best friend and it's taken you this long to figure out something's going on? Maybe if you'd pull your head out of the sand in Wendy's vagina for more than five minutes, you'd see what-'

Cartman's rant is cut short when Stan suddenly lunges forward and squares up to him. Oh God...

'Shut your fucking mouth, asshole! At least I don't pry people I hate with alcohol so that I can fuck them, you fat sack of shit!'

Although I can see the fury building in Cartman's face, he does a spectacular job of keeping his temper.

'Get out of my face, Stan,' he says evenly through clenched teeth.

'Make me, fatass!' Stan spits back in challenge.

I have no idea who would come off better in a fight between these two, but I really don't wanna find out. I grab hold of Cartman's arm and pull him back away from Stan, stepping in between them.

'Stop it, both of you!' I say firmly before glancing to my boyfriend. 'Cartman, you're not helping. Just back off and let me handle this.'

To my surprise Cartman begrudgingly does what I ask of him, folding his arms defensively and taking a couple of steps away. Stan glares at me, wildly gesturing in Cartman's general direction.

'How can you want this, Kyle? How can you want **him**? Someone who treats human beings like they're inanimate objects?'

I sigh. 'That's not how-'

'He's just gonna toy with you and then ditch you after he's had his fun.'

'You just don't understand what we've-'

'I **do** understand that Cartman's a selfish manipulative asshole!'

'That's not true!'

'Yes, it is! Why the fuck are you defending him?'

'Because I'm in love with him!'

The palm of my hand claps over my mouth with such velocity and force that I nearly knock out my front teeth. What the fuck did I just say? I can't believe I just blurted that out when Cartman is standing all but two feet away from me. God only knows what he's thinking! I desperately want to look over at him, to witness his reaction to my outburst, but I'm simply too afraid to look. Instead, I stare into the dilated pupils of my best friend. He looks like he's about to vomit. Again.

'My God...' he murmurs. 'This is so fucked up. You've lost your mind...'

As I watch Stan's dismayed face, I'm silently hoping that if I wish for it hard enough, he'll suddenly stop being angry and understand where I'm coming from. Unfortunately, this doesn't look likely to happen. Before long he slowly moves close me, cautiously laying a hand on my shoulder.

'I don't know what the fuck he's done to you, Kyle,' he says softly. 'But I'm not letting you get hurt. So if you won't listen to me, I'll find someone who you **will** listen to.'

I frown. What's that supposed to mean? Before I can question it, Stan turns away and I can only stand watching helplessly as he skulks off down the street. Jesus, what a fucking mess that was! I don't cry often, but I really feel like it right about now. Familiar arms wrap around my waist from behind and I turn to seek comfort in Cartman's warm brown eyes. To my surprise, my random declaration of love doesn't appear to have fazed him. I'm glad – the last thing I need right now is Cartman walking away from me too. He looks at the tears building in my eyes and gives me a crocked smile of encouragement.

'That actually went better than I thought it would.'

I laugh despite the horrible situation. If only Stan hadn't have walked through that door and saw what he did. There's no way he would have reacted like that if I had just sat down and told him properly. Now there's no telling where he's going or who he's planning to tell. It'll probably be Wendy, maybe even Kenny or Butters. But no matter who it is, one more person knowing brings me one step closer to my mom finding out. The shit has now officially hit the fan, so I'm gonna have to take a step that I know I'm not at all ready for.

I'm gonna have to tell my mom before someone else beats me to it.

*** * * * * **

I get home nearly an hour later. Cartman wouldn't let me leave, desperately trying to talk me out of telling my mom today. His key point was that I'm too emotional after our run-in with Stan to handle it properly. I'm not denying that what he's saying is true, but the fact remains that emotionally capable or not, I need to tell my mom as soon as possible. Chances are that whoever Stan decides to seek advice from won't go running their mouth to my mom, but I'm willing to take the necessary precautions. Cartman offered to come with me, but I figured considering the effect his input had on the conversation with Stan, it was probably best if he stayed out of the way. When I get through the front door, my brother is on the couch but for once the television isn't switched on.

'Hey Ike,' I greet him.

Ike starts at the sound of my voice, like my being there is totally unexpected. He leaps off the couch, gesturing for me to be quiet as he quickly approaches me.

'Dude, if I were you I'd turn around and go back to wherever you just came from,' he hisses. 'Mom is totally on the-'

'Kyle? Could you come in here for a second?'

Mom's voice booms from the kitchen, cutting Ike off. He cringes, patting my shoulder sympathetically.

'Good luck, bro.'

I roll my eyes. This isn't a good start to a profound mother-son talk. What the fuck I've done this time? When I enter the kitchen, Mom is sitting at the dinner table, arms folded. She has an odd expression on her face and I can't quite read the emotion in it.

'Hey Mom,' I say with a gentle smile.

She doesn't smile back.

'Kyle, your friend Stanley has just been on the telephone.'

My heart skins.

No way...

Surely, he wouldn't have...

'He said something about you and the Cartman boy...conducting a special friendship.'

I don't believe it! Why would he do that to me? Doesn't he know my mother at all? What the hell was he thinking? I'm so dismayed and bewildered that I temporarily lose the ability to speak or even think of anything to say.

'I told Stanley that he must have been mistaken,' Mom continues. 'I've raised my son properly, and there's no way that he'd ever be part of something like that.'

This is the perfect chance for me to lie. If I told my mom that Stan was just playing a joke on me, she'd probably believe me. She'd hate my best friend for the rest of his life, but then again I'm not exactly his number one fan at the moment either. So now's the time to make my choice – do I tell the truth or not?

'Stan's...not mistaken, Mom. It's true. Cartman and I have been together for nearly three months now.'

I brace myself, expecting my mom to go ape shit but she doesn't. She says nothing, her face as motionless as if she were an oil painting. It's really kind of surreal. I take her silence as an opportunity to fight my corner.

'He treats me really well. I care about him a lot and he makes me so happy.'

She still hasn't spoken or moved. I can hear Ike shuffling around outside the kitchen doorway, obviously listening in. That's fine – it'll save me the job of telling him later and I doubt he cares anyway. It's Mom I'm worried about since she blatantly does care. She takes a deep breath and slowly gets to her feet. She goes to the oven and switches it on, then crosses the kitchen to the refrigerator and starts taking vegetables out of it. I watch in silence as she starts washing the vegetables in the sink. I'm overwhelmed by how blasé she is being. She's just been told that her son is in a gay relationship with Adolf Hitler Jnr., and she's standing there getting dinner started like nothing's wrong. Of course, I'm fully aware that it's an act of denial, but it doesn't stop it from being freaky. I jump when she finally speaks.

'I think it's probably best if you stay away from Eric Cartman from now on, Kyle.'

I glare at her back. 'Best for who? You?'

I can't stop myself from snapping at her. Her dismissive tone just then was like a red rag to a bull.

'You're obviously very confused,' she elaborates.

I sigh. 'Mom, I'm not confused. I really do-'

'I always knew that Cartman boy was nothing but trouble.'

'You don't understa-'

'To think of all the times I've allowed that child into my home! If I'd thought for just one second that he-'

'Goddamn it, why won't anyone listen to me?!'

My outburst is enough to finally draw my mom's attention away from the vegetables and back to me. Her face is bright red with repressed anger – she looks like she's about to explode.

'Kyle, I forbid you from seeing him.'

'You can't do that!'

Her eyes narrow. 'I can, and most certainly will.'

'What are you gonna do? Home school me? Bar up my windows? Lock me away like a prisoner?'

I'm practically screaming in frustration. I can tell my mom is furious and looks ready to reprimand me for raising my voice to her, but I don't give her the chance.

'You can ground me for the rest of my life, but there's nothing that you or anyone else can do that will force me to change the way I feel about him! You can't stop me from making this decision! You can't stop me from loving him!'

I hear a muffled crack and feel a stinging sensation across my face. I'm so stunned that it takes me a moment or two to realise that my mom has just slapped me. In all of the sixteen years of my life, she's never once raised her hand to me until now. Her eyes blaze with pure rage. I've never seen her looking so angry.

'You don't know what love is!' she spits.

Maybe not, but I know what love isn't. This woman doesn't love me. She doesn't want me to be happy, or to make my own decisions in life. She just wants a puppet, a piece of clay to mould into her vision of the perfect son. I can't let her keep pulling the strings anymore.

'Kyle, get back here!'

Before I even know that I've done it, I've ran out of the kitchen, passed Ike, through the living room and out of the front door. I don't even need to think about where I'm going. As I continue to run, I lick at my swollen lips and taste blood. Cartman's eyes widen when he opens his front door and sees me standing there looking like I have the weight of the world on my shoulders for the second time that day.

'Kyle? What the fuck...?'

He drags me into the house and I slowly sit down on the couch as he closes the door.

'My mom knows,' I say flatly.

'She fucking hit you?'

I ignore the question, since the answer is obvious.

'Stan told her, dude. Why would he do that to me?'

Cartman looks incensed, but this doesn't come across in the uncharacteristically gentle tone of his voice.

'Forgot about that dumb fuck for now. Focus on yourself. Wait here, I'll get you some ice.'

I touch my fingers to my lips as Cartman goes to rattle around in the kitchen. What the fuck was Stan thinking? Did he honestly believe that telling my mom would be the best way to prevent me from getting hurt? I appreciate that he didn't find out about me and Cartman in the best possible way, but that's no excuse. He's totally fucking screwing me over, and now both of the people that I wanted to tell about me and Cartman as delicately as possible are pissed off at me. Today has just been an epic fail in every sense.

My cynical train of thought is broken by a loud knock on the door. I glance towards the window and see a shock of red hair. It's my mom. Cartman comes back with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a dishcloth, not taking his eyes off the front door as he lays the makeshift icepack down on the coffee table in front of me.

'Stay here and ice your lip.'

Not likely. I scramble to my feet and pursue him to the door. I swear he rolls his eyes at my urgent movement, but follows it up with a comforting smile. He puts the security chain on the door and opens it, addressing my mom through the small gap.

'Can I help you?' he says sharply.

'I want my son,' my mom barks, equally as sharp.

Cartman snorts. 'You and me both, bitch.'

With that, he goes to push the door closed but is prevented by my mom's shoe lodging it ajar. He tries again, a few times, but my mom refuses to remove her foot. Cartman sighs impatiently and takes a step back to rethink his strategy. I hear my mother let out a Banshee-like screech as she slams her body against the door. There's an ear-splitting crack as the security chain is torn from its fixture and the front door flies open.

'Get out of my way!'

My mom shoves by a stunned looking Cartman and stomps into the living room, glaring at me forcefully.

'Young man, when I tell you to come back to me, you will do it! Do you understand?' Mom bellows in my face.

'What's going on?'

Everyone turns their attention to the top of the stairs as Liane appears in her dressing gown. I glance over at Cartman, who for the first time today looks more than just a little worried.

'I'll tell you what's going on!' Mom snaps. 'Your bastard son has corrupted my child!'

Liane descends the stairs, looking back and forth between the three of us before stopping on Cartman.

'Eric? What have you done?'

'Nothing, Mom! I...'

Cartman glances over to me, as if for some kind of reassurance, then smiles confidently and turns back to his mom.

'Mrs Broflovski isn't happy because Kyle's my boyfriend,' he says matter-of-factly.

To my surprise, and apparently Cartman's, Liane immediately beams at us. 'That's wonderful, hon!'

'My son is **not** your boyfriend!' my mom rages. 'And what do you mean 'wonderful'? You're actually condoning this?'

Mrs Cartman shrugs. 'Of course. If our boys are happy together, I see no reason why we shouldn't be happy for them.'

'Happy for them?!' Mom shakes her head like it's the most retarded implausible thing she's ever heard. 'Kyle, we're leaving. Now!'

She grabs me by the arm, her fingernails digging into my flesh painfully. She begins to drag me towards the door when Cartman grabs my other arm and tugs me from her grasp. Mom turns to glare at both of us.

'Kyle, I am your mother! You will do as I say!'

Cartman pulls me as close to him as possible, keeping a tight hold on my wrist.

'Mom, you can't let her take Kyle,' he says pleadingly. 'Look what she did to his face.'

He cups my face in his hand, displaying my busted lip for his mom to look at. Liane frowns in concern.

'Oh my...' She looks over at my mother. 'Perhaps it's better if Kyle stays here for now, Sheila. Until you've calmed down.'

'Calmed down? This **is** calmed down! Just you wait until your father gets home, Kyle! We simply will not tolerate such disgraceful behaviour!'

'Sheila, perhaps you should try to be a little more understanding of your son. If our boys truly care for each other then-'

'You of all people dare to offer me parenting advice?' Mom scoffs. 'That's a laugh! When were you crowned Mother of the Year?'

Liane's face darkens. 'I've never had to strike my child, Sheila.'

'Well, isn't that just the problem right there? Maybe if you'd spent less time selling your body and more time in the home disciplining your child, we wouldn't have this problem.'

Both Cartman and his mom look devastated by this. Of course, everyone has always known about Liane's sordid occupation – but it's always been like some unwritten rule that nobody is to mention it in front of her. I'm really pissed off that my mom felt the need to go there, especially when I feel Cartman squirm uncomfortably beside me.

'Mom, please-' I begin.

She ignores me. 'Unbelievable! The town whore trying to give **me** advice on how to raise my son when her own is nothing but an evil conniving little bastard! I will never allow my son's name to be sullied by this sick association with your screwed-up delinquent child!'

'Mom, that's enough!'

The harshness of my voice is enough to make even Cartman wince. All three of them are staring at me in amazement, but I'm too pissed off to care. I lock eyes with my mother, my fury outweighing hers by a clear mile.

'I'm not having you talk that way about Cartman! He's brought me more happiness in the last three months than you have in my entire lifetime! And don't you dare be so rude to Liane! She's a wonderful woman who has done her best as a mother, and you should show her some goddamn respect!'

I can see the slightest hint of a smile on Cartman's face out of the corner of my eye. My mom looks dumbfounded, so I quickly continue while she's stunned and before I lose my nerve.

'I'm not leaving with you when you're like this because we're both gonna end up saying things that we'll regret. If you don't leave now, I'll call the police and show them what you've done to my face. Heaven forbid that your precious family reputation is tainted by a police car pulling up outside of your house!'

I sarcastically spit out my last sentence as if it were a mouthful of poison. My mom straightens up, a solemn frown on her face. 'I'm extremely disappointed in you, Kyle.'

'I know,' I nod, smiling wryly. 'I just don't care anymore.'

I swear that I hear my mother growl as she whirls around and exits the house. I exhale heavily, shaking like a leaf. Just as my mom disappears from sight, my brother comes running through the open doorway. He has a backpack in his hands, which he gives to me.

'It just a few of your things,' Ike explains. 'I figured you'd need your insulin, a change of clothes, that sort of thing...'

Thank Moses for genius little brothers. I nod and smile thankfully. The smile is returned, and my brother stares at me for a second before opening his mouth to speak again.

'Ike, we're going home!'

Unfortunately, my mom's voice cuts him off. He reluctantly turns on his heel and jogs out of the house. Cartman shuts the door behind him. I robotically cross the room and flop down on the couch, taking slow even breaths as my body recovers from the adrenaline rush the argument with my mother caused. I feel like my head is caught in a whirlwind. I'm so out of it that I don't even realise that Cartman has sat down next to me until he takes my hand.

Cartman's mom clears her throat lightly. 'I'll go make us all some tea.'

Liane disappears into the kitchen as I stare blankly at the living room carpet. I guess things could have gone worse. Who knows – the situation might even be repairable. And at least Stan didn't succeed in his senseless quest to find someone with the power to split us up. Cartman's arm slinks around my shoulder and I turn to hug him. I almost instantly feel better when his arms pull me tightly against his chest. We sit in silence, the only sound being that of the kettle boiling in the kitchen as Cartman rubs my back gently.

'Your heart is beating so fast,' he whispers.

'Yeah...'

He pulls back to look at me intently.

'Kyle, I-'

He shuts up when his mom walks back into the room with a china tea set on a tray. Although Cartman's arms remain around me, Liane doesn't look at us like it's anything out of the ordinary, putting two tea cups out in front of us and pouring the tea as if everything was fine.

'I'm going to the store later, so let me know if there's anything you'd like for supper, Kyle.'

I smile gratefully. 'Thanks, Mrs Cartman.'

'Mom?' Cartman cuts in, gesturing to both himself and me. 'Are you sure you're cool with this?'

She gives him a confused look. 'Why wouldn't I be, Eric? I know I'm not around as much as I used to be, but don't think I haven't noticed how much happier you've been lately.'

Liane winks at me pointedly. I guess she believes that Cartman's happiness is down to me. That's so awesome!

'So, it doesn't matter that we're both guys?' I ask.

'Of course not!'

'And it doesn't matter that Kyle's a dumb Jew?'

Cartman melts the glare I shoot him with a playful smirk. His mom seems to miss the joke completely.

'Goodness, no! You're a wonderful bright handsome young man, Kyle. I couldn't ask for a better partner for my son.'

I'm a little embarrassed by her gushing, but it's a good kind of embarrassed. Cartman seems pleased also, smiling genuinely as he takes a long indulgent sip from his teacup. That is, until Liane coos in her syrupy sweet voice:

'Only the best for my special little muffin.'

I break into giggles as Cartman splutters and chokes on his mouthful of tea. All in all, today has sucked pretty hard, but it's nice to know that at least one person is on our side.

*** * * * ***

The rest of the night was mercifully unexciting. Cartman and I cuddled up on the couch to calm down while his mom went to the store. I felt a little guilty that she went out shopping for us when she's only just got back from the hospital, but she insisted. Later on, my dad called and spoke to Liane, but allegedly he was just checking that I was okay. I had dinner with Cartman and his mom which was really nice and relaxing. We were all getting along so well that at one point, my mind wandered back to the conversation Cartman and I had about marriage – I'd love having a woman like Liane as my mother-in-law.

After dinner, Cartman offered to help his mom with the dishes and instructed me to go upstairs and relax after the day I'd had. Now I'm in Cartman's room, laying on his bed reading through a Sociology assignment I have due tomorrow. I can't really focus though. It's not really the fact that I've left home that bothers me, more that my 'best friend' has screwed me over in such a way. Stan had better have a damn good explanation for doing something so potentially destructive.

Before my thoughts can return their focus to Stan, Cartman enters the room with a big brown paper bag and dumps it on the bed beside me.

I raise an eyebrow. 'What's that?'

He smiles good-humouredly. 'A coming out present from my mom.'

I open the bag and look inside. Dozens of shiny little wrappers. 'Condoms?'

He nods. 'Shitloads of them.'

'That was erm...thoughtful of her.'

'Yep,' Cartman plucks a condom out of the bag and studies it curiously. He lets out a gasp, suddenly inspired. 'Hey, check this out!'

He scampers out of the room, chuckling madly. He's got that spring in his step that would indicate he's gonna do something stupid. I turn my attention back to my assignment, not even wanting to consider what my childish nutcase boyfriend is up to this time.

'Ta da!'

Cartman's voice makes me look towards the door. My eyes nearly fall out of my head in surprise.

'Jesus Christ, dude!'

He's inflated the condom to breaking point with water. It's unbelievably huge, like the size of a large dog! Cartman laughs uncontrollably, toying with the humungous balloon.

'Woah, what a wad! Imagine getting something this size up your ass!'

I cluck my tongue as he laughs even harder. It's not **that** funny. He experimentally hoists it up above his head.

'Man, it weighs a fucking tonne!'

'Be careful,' I warn gently.

He rolls his eyes dismissively. 'Don't worry, Jew. It's Trojan!'

Right on cue, the condom explodes and a torrent of water rains down on Cartman's head, drenching him and the floor beneath his feet. Now **that's** funny! In fact, I nearly fall off the bed laughing.

'Ah, fuck!' he shouts.

'I warned you!' I say in between sniggers.

'Aw, man! My clothes are fucking soaked!'

I slip off the bed and approach him as he tries to wring out the water in his clothes, cursing under his breath. I keenly observe how the wet material clings to his broad masculine form, smiling suggestively as I run my fingers through his wet hair.

'Well, I suppose you'll just have to take them off.'

He looks at me blankly for a second before detecting my tone. He smirks lustily as my hands trail over his wet chest. He actually feels really cold, and despite his idiocy I feel a bit sorry for him. He leans down to kiss me as I start unbuttoning his wet shirt. When I'm done I peel it from his shoulders and cast it down onto the wet floor below. My hands return to Cartman's hair, my fingers curling in it and tightening as I gently bite down on his bottom lip. I hear a quiet rumbling from inside his throat and release his lip, assaulting his mouth with my tongue instead as my hands slide down his chest to below his waistline. He moans into my mouth as I gently caress his cock through the soaked denim. The wet jeans cling to his legs so much that I have to be pretty rough when I tug them down over his hips. He seems to appreciate my mild display of aggression, letting another moan escape his lips as I wrap my arms around him and feel him shiver.

'You're gonna catch cold, standing here soaking wet.'

He grins, nodding. 'True. I guess I'll take a shower and warm up. Care to join me?'

'I thought you'd never ask.'

Naked Cartman takes my hand and leads me down the hallway to the bathroom. I lock the door behind us as Cartman turns on the water. He casts a predatory gaze over his shoulder at me before turning around and pinning me against the bathroom door. He tugs off my t-shirt before kissing me deeply, his fingers dancing over the smooth skin of my chest and stomach. Short work is made of my jeans as he unfastens them and tugs them down to the bathroom floor in record time. When I'm totally relieved of my clothing, Cartman gestures towards the shower and I follow his lead underneath the gushing water.

We allow the hot water and steam to envelop our bodies, and I instantly feel the tension and anxiety of today's bullshit being washed away – a feeling which is probably due more to the fact that I can see Cartman hungrily eyeing my wet naked form. He suddenly presses me against the wall, grinding our cocks together and nipping at my neck with his mouth. I shudder as the warm sensation of the water and Cartman's body on my front contrasts with the cold wall tiles my back is pressed against.

I jump as I feel a slippery sensation on my chest, and look down to see that Cartman is rubbing me down with a bar of soap. He's washing me? I blush a little at such a caring and intimate action, but I quickly recover and locate my own bar of soap so that I can reciprocate. Cartman glances at me with a coy smile as I start tenderly lathering up his skin. This is such an easy task – I know his body so well that I could do this with my eyes closed. In fact, I **will **do it with my eyes closed. With my free hand, I pull Cartman's face to mine and capture his lips. He has no trouble responding with a firm passionate kiss as we continue to clean each other.

All of a sudden I feel a twinge in my injured lip, and I wince as a coppery taste fills my mouth again. Cartman stops kissing me when he realises, although I notice that he moans ever so slightly at the taste of my blood as he licks at his lips. His hand reaches up to stroke my face as he pulls back to examine my wound again.

'What the hell did you do to deserve that anyway?'

My mouth suddenly feels dry. I have no idea if his question is rhetorical or not, but after everything that's happened today, I feel like I need to answer it.

'It was because I...I told her that nothing could ever stop me from loving you.'

Cartman stares at me wordlessly as I feel my face growing hotter and hotter. That's the second time he's heard that word from me today. I was too scared to watch his initial reaction, but after what I've been through today, nothing seems scary anymore. Cartman's face suddenly illuminates with his smug smile and he presses his lips to my wound lightly, his tongue flickering out to wash away the blood.

'Nothing's ever stopped me either,' he murmurs breathily.

Right now my smile is so big that it makes my lip ache, but I don't care. I bring our mouths together again, leaning my body against his and cherishing every inch of his skin pressed against mine under the hot cascading water. Sure, he didn't use the 'L' word, but then again I don't really ever expect him to. He doesn't need to – I know he feels the same as me, and I couldn't be happier. It's so strange that there once was a time when I couldn't stand to be around Cartman. Now I just can't imagine not being with him like this and I couldn't stand for us to be apart. But I think I understand why. It reminds me of the advice Kenny gave me for my concerns over Stan wanting to be with Wendy so much.

'_There'll come a day in your life when you'll discover a special person, the one true love of your life. When that day comes, you'll understand.'_

I may well have lost both my mother and my best friend today. But at least I've gained my one true love.

* * * * *

_So, there you have it. They're out! _

_The end was a bit garbled, but this chapter's so long that I was about ready to commit hari-kari by the time I was nearing the end of it, so I'll deal with the garbled-ness this time. I'm not really expecting many fans of Stan's reaction, but...meh. That's how it happened in my mind, and at least he gets to do something for a change! And I know that Sheila's reaction may have seemed a little typical of her, but she may yet surprise you... Just wait a few chapters. Stan and Sheila will both get a chance to explain their actions. And at last, the 'L' word is spoken! I wasn't sure if it was too soon or not, but...fuck it._

_Anywho, chapter 16 is now under way. See you then!_

_DD_

_XX_


	16. Recollect

_Author Notes: Many thanks to the readers and reviewers of the last chapter, and sorry it's been so long since you heard from me. I think this is the longest I've gone in between updates. Two weeks, it's been! Work and other stuff has me so beat at the moment that I barely have the energy to write, which sucks. Plus, I found this chapter a little hard going, as it's kind of a filler type chapter. Anyway, I did my best, so I hope you enjoy it!_

**Chapter 16 – Recollect**

When I awoke early the next morning, the first thing that I did was smile. Cartman was sleeping peacefully beside me, his strong arm binding me against him as usual. For a whole five blissful seconds, I forgot all about the events of yesterday. Then it all came flooding back to me – the anger and confusion, the raised voices, the physicality... And I know that I'll have all of that to deal with again very soon.

I can't decide who I'd rather resolve my issues with first – my family or Stan. On one hand, it's probably pretty important that I deal with my family as soon as possible, since I don't just have one person to think about. Judging by his face yesterday I'm pretty sure that Ike is fine with this whole thing, but I haven't even heard my dad's views yet. He's generally a pretty rational guy so even if he doesn't approve, hopefully he'll talk my mom out of doing anything drastic_. _Her capabilities have always terrified me - I have visions of her leading a war against Cartman or something equally as spectacular. And although she's a total bitch and I really don't care less what she thinks anymore, I'd prefer it if she didn't resent me for who I am. She **is** my mom, after all.

On the other hand, Stan and I are so close that he practically **is** a member of my family. Despite the fact that he acted like an absolute douche yesterday and made a catastrophic error of judgment to say the least, he's still my best friend. I'm sure he's got some form of reasoning behind what he did. I mean, he said he didn't want me to get hurt, so he did it because he cared, right? And in a way, he kind of saved me the trouble of having a difficult conversation with my mom – she probably would have freaked out no matter how I told her anyway. I really think that I'll be able to forgive Stan if he explains himself. And apologises. Oh, and accepts the fact that I'm staying with Cartman no matter what.

I just need to make both him and my parents see that my relationship with Cartman isn't a bad thing. I mean, I'm happier than I've ever been in my life. I'm in love, goddamn it. Why is that so hard for everyone to accept?

Cartman's alarm clock sounds and he begins to stir. He swiftly undertakes his morning ritual of grunting prehistorically and hurling said clock across the bedroom. I respond in a similar fashion to usual, calling him a grumpy fatass and tugging the pillow out from under his head when he tries to turn over and go back to sleep. He yells 'Screw you, Jew!' before rolling over to my side of the bed and attempting to do just that. I can't help but wonder whether other couples wake up this way as he kisses me forcefully and I slide my hand inside his boxers.

Our heated make-out session is cut short since we need to get up for school. I shower first, the smile returning to my face when I remember the fun we had last night and the words that were exchanged. I quickly dress and take my insulin, and when I get downstairs I find that Cartman has fixed some breakfast for me. He rolls his eyes when I thank him, then disappears upstairs to take his shower. My smile is still going strong as I nibble on my bagel and sip at my orange juice – I could definitely get used to this.

As we walk to school, Cartman persistently tries to hold my hand. Not to make us look cute and couple-like, but to annoy me. He knows I hate the whole 'hand-holding while you're walking' thing. It's okay if you're five years old and the other person is your mother, but otherwise it shouldn't be done. Cartman agrees, but it doesn't stop him from trying to piss me off by making nonstop grabs at my fingers. Of course, every time I scold him, he laughs at me. Typical Cartman behaviour. It doesn't kill my smile though – I guess it's good to know that some things never change.

I'm not at all surprised to find that Stan isn't at the school gates today. In fact nobody is, so Cartman and I go straight in through the main doors. As we walk through the hallways, I can't help but notice the odd looks that are being directed at us. Wherever we go, conversations halt and the whispers start. Just then, it hits me – who else could Stan have told? I seriously doubt that he got on the phone and dialled every number he could think of to spread the news, but gossip catches like fucking wildfire in this place. A group of girls in the year below us giggle as we pass, and I shift uneasily.

'I feel like everyone knows,' I murmur.

Cartman shrugs. 'If Stan told his bitch, she would have told Bebe, so everyone probably **does** know. Who gives a fuck anyway?'

True. I **did **tell Cartman that I'd happily announce our relationship to the world once my mom knew. That sentiment hasn't changed – I really don't care who knows. I'm just not comfortable with being stared at. Of course, Cartman doesn't mind – he's a total extrovert. I'm more of an introvert and would happily go through my entire life without ever being the centre of attention.

Unless Cartman is the one giving me the attention.

We wordlessly part ways to go to our respective lockers. Even though Cartman is only a few feet away from me, I still feel a little anxious. What if someone starts asking me questions? Can I handle it on my own? As I spin in my combination, I hear a throat clearing behind me. The voice sounds kind of like Stan's, but when I turn around I see Craig and Clyde gawping at me. I swallow hard, preparing myself for either a full interrogation or an outright onslaught of gay bashing. Craig reaches out and squeezes my shoulder in a comforting manner.

'Dude, we heard your mom threw you out. You okay?'

I blink for a second. Is that all they've heard? I guess the story must have got twisted somewhere.

'Well...she didn't exactly throw me out. I just...I told her that I'm gay and she didn't like it, so I left.'

To my surprise, they don't flinch at the news of me being gay. I don't know if I should be relieved or offended.

'That sucks,' Clyde says with a shrug. 'So do you have a place to stay?'

Craig rolls his eyes. 'Of course he does, dumbass. He'll be staying with Stan.'

I bristle slightly when I hear that name. 'Actually, I'm staying with Cartman for now.'

Both look at me like I've just pranced over to them in a frilly skirt and offered them a blowjob. I guess it must sound pretty weird, all things considered.

'As in...**Eric** Cartman?' Craig asks, eyebrow cocked.

'Yeah.'

'Eric Cartman? The fat-assed, racist, gay-bashing, anti-Semitic prick?'

'Err...yeah.'

Craig takes a moment to digest this information.

''Kay,' he says finally. 'Why?'

Good question. I inhale deeply through my nose, hoping that the sudden rush of oxygen will kick-start my brain. What do I say? _Because he's the guy I'm gay with? My boyfriend? My lover?_ What's the best way to word it?

'Because he's...well, it's just that we...I mean, he's been...'

I swear sometimes I'm just so articulate, I amaze myself. They're watching me expectantly - why can't I just get out what I'm trying to say? Before I can stumble over any more words, I feel a hand clutch at my wrist. I turn to see Cartman's smirking face and before I know what's happening, he's leaned in and roughly crushed his lips against mine. I'm so stunned that pulling away doesn't even cross my mind. The kiss ends as abruptly as it began, and Cartman gives Clyde and Craig a sideways glance.

'**That's** why, assholes,' he says coolly.

Well, that's one way to set the record straight. I chew on my bottom lip coyly as my face starts to feel warm. We've never kissed in front of anyone before – not intentionally anyway. I'm having déjà vu of Stan's reaction when I turn back to see Clyde and Craig's paled faces. They look slightly traumatised. Judging by Cartman's amused expression, I'd say that was the desired effect.

Craig regains his senses first. 'No...Way...'

Clyde blinks slowly. 'You two are...?'

Cartman sighs contentedly. 'Yep. Kyle's totally hot for me. Look how flushed his little cheeks are. That's pure desire burning there.'

Smug bastard! I brush his hand away when he tries to touch my face. 'Of course I'm flushed when you're molesting me in public without any warning!'

Cartman laughs and slings his arm around my shoulders, tugging me close to him as he grins at our two surprised classmates.

'Dude...that's pretty weird,' Clyde remarks.

'I always knew you'd turn out to be a flaming queer-mo, fatass,' Craig sniggers.

Cartman frowns. 'Hey! Don't belittle our people, you homophobic asswipe!'

I roll my eyes at this. I'm sure that was supposed to be funny in some sort of ironic way.

Craig holds up his hands defensively. 'Dude, I'm not homophobic. It's fine by me if you like guys.'

'Yeah, it just leaves more pussy for us real men.'

We all turn at the sound of Kenny's voice and see him approaching with Butters trailing along behind him. Kenny glances at Cartman's arm around my shoulder and smirks. 'So, it's true then?'

'Gosh guys, that's awesome!' Butters yells. 'I'm so happy for you!'

In typical Butters fashion, he pulls me into his arms and hugs me tightly, then moves to do the same to Cartman, who back up so fast that he almost collides with the lockers behind him.

'Don't touch me, Butters,' he says flatly.

'Yeah,' Kenny nods, grinning. 'That's Kyle's job.'

'I guess this explains why you guys haven't been as pissed off with each other lately,' Clyde muses.

'Yeah, there's nothing like a good hard fuck to expel any unwanted tension,' Kenny chips in. 'Speaking of which, what are Jews like in bed, Cartman? I've always wanted to know.'

Before Cartman can reply, Kenny slings an arm around me, stage-whispering to me so that everyone can hear.

'You know Kyle, if you were curious about guys, you could have just come to **me** for...enlightenment.'

Kenny winks saucily as Cartman hastily pulls me away from him.

'Fuck off, Kenny!' he growls. 'You don't even like guys.'

Kenny shrugs. 'Maybe not, but I'm always ready and willing to help a friend.'

The school bell rings, cutting off whatever Cartman was about to say. He glances at Butters.

'Well, that's our cue to get to Geography,' he looks back at me. 'Kyle...'

He smiles cockily, sliding his arm around my waist and kissing my cheek lightly. If I wasn't blushing before, I definitely am now. I knew that Cartman was fine with everyone knowing about us, but I didn't think he'd be **this **openly affectionate. What's gotten into him? When he releases me, Kenny is smirking in his usual perverted manner, whereas Butters is positively beaming. I smile back shyly. If only Stan could have reacted like this... Cartman winks at me before smacking Kenny across the back of the head.

'Keep your damn eyes, hands and whatever else off **my** Jew, poor boy.'

Kenny frowns, massaging his head as Cartman disappears off down the hallway with Butters chattering to him excitedly. Kenny's metal shop class is on the way to my social studies class so we turn and walk together in the other direction. I'm so relieved that Cartman took control of that situation. As previously mentioned, I'm not good at being the centre of attention. If Cartman hadn't have got involved, I'd probably still be standing there blithering at Craig and Clyde like a grade A dunce.

Kenny sniggers. 'Dude...your face is so fucking red right now.'

Our eyes meet and we smirk at each other. I'm glad it's just me and him now. This is much easier.

'So I guess Stan told you then?'

Kenny nods. 'He ran into me last night. Said that he'd seen you guys kissing and that you'd told him you love Cartman. I told him that I couldn't understand why he was so surprised. I mean, it pretty much **needed** to happen eventually. The tension between you and Cartman was bubbling over to a point where you'd either have to kill each other or fuck.'

I smile awkwardly at Kenny's observations. He certainly has a unique way with words. 'What did Stan say when you said that?'

'Nothing. He just shook his head at me and walked away doing that stupid nose hold thing he does when he's frustrated.'

I could go for a stupid nose hold thing right now myself. So, Kenny had a positive reaction to Cartman and I getting together and Stan just walked away from him? If Kenny is accepting it, then surely things can't be as bad as Stan thinks they are. I just don't get why he can't have a more open mind to this situation. Why can't he just be like everyone else I've encountered today and accept that I've found the person I belong with? Why can't he be happy for me instead of trying to screw things up? Which reminds me...

'Did he tell you that he told my mom about it?'

Kenny comes to a stop so quickly that I swear he nearly flies out of his shoes.

'What?! Why the fuck did he do that?'

'He wanted someone who would get through to me and talk me out of being with Cartman,' I gesture for him to continue walking as I explain. 'She didn't exactly have the best reaction to it.'

'Is that what happened to your lip?'

I touch my fingertips to the wound on my face. It's still a little tender and starting to bruise a little, but it's no longer bleeding or pulsating like it was last night. Most of the damage is on the inside of my lip too, so I didn't think it was an obvious injury. I guess I forgot that Kenny specialises in domestic violence, poor kid. I nod slowly. 'Yeah. Is it really noticeable?'

He shrugs. 'Kinda. I wasn't gonna say anything though. I figured you'd just got it from a rough make-out session with your hardcore-macho boyfriend.'

'Not this time,' I say jokingly.

He laughs. 'Why Cartman though? Seriously? Apathetic anti-Semitism turn you on or something?'

'A little.'

Might as well be honest. Kenny laughs again, waving at me over his shoulder as he enters his metal shop class. I briefly overhear his teacher chewing him out for almost being tardy and break into a slow run, not wanting to have a similar reception when I arrive at my class.

As I turn the corner, I'm nearly knocked off my feet as I slam straight into someone. When I look up, I find myself staring into familiar steel blue eyes. They glare at me, their lack of emotion chilling me to the bone. My 'super best friend' and I stand face to face in an empty hallway, almost challenging each other to be the first to speak. This latest encounter with Stan is almost as horribly awkward as yesterday's, and the tension in the air is making me feel sick to my stomach. Best friends just shouldn't be like this. I'm about to say as much when suddenly Stan shakes his head and briskly walks by me without so much as a second glance. I turn and for the second time in so many hours watch him walk away from me.

And for the first time today, my smile truly disappears.

* * * * *

'I saw Stan earlier.'

Cartman and I both shift a little uncomfortably on the cold ground we're sitting on. The news of us being together spread fast as expected and we both got quizzed nonstop throughout the duration of all of our morning classes. So we've decided to take our lunch outside rather than sit in a cafeteria full of inquisitive people. Or 'nosey gossiping fuckwads', as Cartman would put it. It's pretty cold today, but freezing our asses off for a little while beats sitting inside and being gawped at like its feeding time at the zoo or something. Cartman looks up from his sandwich, eyebrow raised.

'Oh yeah? What did he say?'

I sigh. 'Nothing. He totally ignored me.'

Cartman snorts. 'Figures. He's probably scared you'll knock the shit out of him for telling on you.'

'I'd never hit Stan.'

'I fucking would.' I give Cartman a scolding look, to which he shrugs. 'What? As far as I'm concerned, it's his fault your mom freaked out and hurt you.'

I shudder – not from the cold but from the image of my boyfriend and best friend squaring up to each other flashing in my head. I hope that's the only place I'll ever have to see that particular sight again, but I'm worried it may not be. Cartman and Stan are both quite good at holding grudges. Personally, I don't have the time or energy to waste on such things.

'She might have done it anyway,' I point out. 'It's Stan's fault that he spilled it to her, but it's not his fault she reacted like that.'

Cartman makes a disapproving sound. 'You're way too forgiving, Jew,' he smiles a little. 'Though I guess if you weren't, I probably wouldn't have you.'

I allow myself to smile at that too before growing serious again. 'No hitting Stan, okay?'

He rolls his eyes. 'Yeah, fine. **You** wouldn't need to hit him to knock the shit out of him anyway. Just give him a talking to like you did your mom yesterday and the crap will fly right out of him!' he sniggers.

I pout angrily. 'That's not funny, dude!'

'Sure it is! It was so awesome! You totally put that bitch in her place. You really took me by surprise. I honestly didn't know you had it in you!'

He laughing like it's the funniest thing ever, but at the same time he looks so proud of me. I smile, happy to have impressed him so much. I'm about to lean in and kiss him when something occurs to me.

'Speaking of surprises, I didn't realise that you were so into public displays of affection. What was with kissing me in the hallway earlier?'

He abruptly stops laughing and I swear he blushes a little before suddenly finding his sandwich very interesting.

'I'm just fucking stoked that I have the privilege of being able to nail you,' he says simply. 'Why wouldn't I want to show off the fact that you're mine?'

'Like a dog pissing on a tree to mark its territory, huh?'

He frowns at that, but I'm only kidding. I know jealousy isn't supposed to be a desirable trait in a partner, but I quite like Cartman's occasional little outbursts of possessiveness. It reminds me how much I mean to him, and it's not like he treats me like I'm an inanimate object like Stan accused him of doing.

'Erm...does it make you feel, like...uncomfortable?' Cartman asks, sounding concerned.

I smirk at that – Eric Cartman is actually considering **my** feelings? I can't fight the urge any longer and lean in to press my lips to his. He kisses back gently, intertwining the fingers of one hand with one of mine. We keep the kiss short, but it's still enough to raise my heart rate and to fight off a little of the cold surrounding us. Cartman pulls back and grins, but his smile fades when something catches his eye. I turn to see Wendy standing behind us. She eyes our joined hands intently as she clears her throat.

'Kyle, can I talk to you?' She glances at Cartman pointedly, and adds: 'Alone?'

'No,' Cartman automatically replies on my behalf.

I half-glare at him, but I can't really argue. 'If this is about Stan, I really don't wanna hear it right now.'

Wendy gives me a pleading look. 'Kyle, Stan only did what he did because he cares about you.'

Cartman clucks his tongue. 'If he really cared, he'd tell Kyle himself instead of sending messages through his ho like we're in fucking grade school.'

'I'm not talking to you, asshole!' Wendy snaps before looking back at me. 'Stan knows you're probably mad at him. He just doesn't want you to get hurt. Just please try to understand that he had your best interests at heart.'

Then why couldn't he have said that this morning instead of blanking me in the hallway like I was the one who had done something wrong? I don't know what pisses me off more – the fact that he betrayed me in the first place, or the fact that he can't even bring himself to come and talk it out with me in person.

'That may be so, Wendy,' I say. 'But it just so happens that Stan's royally screwed me over with his supposed 'good intentions'. He claims that he's scared Cartman's gonna hurt me? Well, let me tell you something - Cartman has done an entire rap sheet of malicious things to me in the past. But all of those things put together haven't made my life as difficult as this one thing that Stan has done has. And he doesn't even have the guts to explain himself to me personally. So screw him. Until Stan grows some balls, tell him he can suck mine.'

'Yeah, mine too!' Cartman pipes up.

We both get up and collect our things, leaving Wendy standing there speechless. I sigh irritably as we enter the school building. My angry voice echoes down the empty hallway.

'Can you believe Stan? What an absolute douche!'

'Yeah...are you sure I can't hit him?'

I look at Cartman sharply, but my expression immediately softens – I can tell from his face that he's joking. A bell rings ending the lunchtime period. I sigh again, smiling gently as Cartman fumbles through his school bag for his history book.

'I'm gonna go to the bathroom before class starts.'

Cartman nods, smirking. 'See you after school, Jew.'

'Sure thing, fatass.'

I lean in and quickly press a goodbye kiss to his cheek before making my way to the nearest bathroom. It's empty except for Butters, who is at the sink washing his hands. He glances up at me, smiling brilliantly.

'Well hey, Kyle! I know I've said it already, but congratulations again to you and Eric!

It's so rare to find somebody so genuinely ecstatic to learn of other people's happiness. Butters is one in a million, and a great friend.

'Thanks, Butters.'

'No no, thank **you**! It's really brought some sunshine into my day, seeing two of my closest pals so happy. I'm so pleased for you two! Especially Eric, what with me knowing how long he's liked you for and all.'

I raise an eyebrow. 'You do?'

'Well sure!' Butters shrugs. 'He told me a couple-a years back that he liked you. It made him so sad to think that you wouldn't like him back. He lost all that weight and such. He'd write all these sad poems and he'd even cut himself. I'd keep tellin' him that he'd feel better if he just told you, but he was always scared that you'd shoot him down or tell everyone he was a faggot. Gee - guess I was right, huh?'

He chuckles to himself as he towels his hands dry. I'm stunned – Cartman had told me that he realised he liked me when we were fourteen, but I never linked that fact with the memories of how depressed he was around that time. I was the reason for that? I was the reason that he suddenly lost so much weight? I know the way that he felt for me wasn't my fault, but I still feel really guilty for making him feel so low. I notice Butters watching me curiously and snap out of my trance, smiling hesitantly.

'You sure were...So what else did he tell you?'

'Hmm...he didn't **tell me** much else, but I think it's always been pretty obvious to me that he has feelings for you. I reckon he even liked you back when you were little kids of nine, what with all those nice things that he did for you.'

I have to laugh at this. All I remember Cartman doing when we were nine was torturing me for being Jewish and trying to kill me with a Wiffleball bat. 'What nice things?'

Butters looks a little alarmed, shuffling his feet nervously. 'Oh boy...he made me swear never to tell you about them.'

Okay, now I'm intrigued. I slowly approach my nervous blond friend, gently placing my hand on his shoulder.

'It's okay, Butters. There's no secrets between me and Cartman anymore. He wouldn't mind you telling me.'

I hide the fact that this is absolute bullshit behind a reassuring smile. Butters returns the smile and looks thoughtful for a moment.

'Well, like when he saved you and your family from San Francisco. That's the nicest thing I've ever known him do.'

Wow...this is a bombshell, to say the least. I'd always wondered about how my family escaped the San Francisco smug storm. All I could remember was someone in an orange boiler suit hovering over me, and the next thing I knew, I was on a bus back to South Park. I never suspected for a minute that it was Cartman that had helped us. I wonder why he never told me about it, if only just to hold it against me and say that I owed him something.

'And he'd always talk about me and him doing things together to make you jealous,' Butters continues with a sigh. 'Actually, there were times when I was sure that was the only reason he hung out with me.'

He sounded kind of sad when he said that. I wonder if they were...No. They couldn't have been...

'Butters, were you and Cartman ever...'

He looks at me blankly for a moment before realising what I'm getting at. He gasps, an expression of mild horror flickering across his face.

'Aw, heck no!' He laughs. 'Me and Eric are just buddies, always have been! I'm straight as an arrow in anyways.'

'Really?!'

I cringe at myself. That sounded so fucking rude. I might as well have added, 'But you act like such a flaming homosexual!' Luckily, Butters isn't the easiest person to offend and casually shrugs it off.

'Sure! You know Porsche from Raisins, right?'

I think for a second, trying to put a face to the name. 'Oh! The airhead with the dark hair?'

'That's the one!' he smirks happily. 'Well, we've been dating for about six weeks now, but I already feel like she's the love of my life. We're so in sync with one another, it's incredible!'

I nod, trying not to grin. So, the boy with the Hello Kitty bedspread is dating the girl that can't understand why people have hands. Looks like Cartman and I have competition for the award for most well suited couple in South Park.

* * * * *

After school, Cartman and I met up and went back to his place. Cartman made us a snack while I tried to call home. Ike answered and strongly advised me against speaking to Mom today. He agreed to meet me tomorrow morning before school to fill me in on what's been happening at home since yesterday. He kept the conversation brief and his voice was very quiet, so I guess Mom was somewhere close by. Cartman and I ate our food, chatting about nothing in particular. I don't even know how we got to the current place in our conversation, but it's somehow dissolved into a petty argument as usual.

'Rabbit fur is called cashmere, you pig-headed retard.'

'I'm telling you that it's angora, dickhead. There's a breed of rabbit called angora. What, you think that's just a fucking coincidence?'

'Well, what's cashmere then?'

'How the hell am I supposed to know, Jew? You've probably just made it up.'

I sigh. 'We'll Google it later. Let's just chill out and be thankful that today went well.'

'Sounds good to me.'

An arm slides around my shoulders and I'm pulled into a short though heated kiss. We pull apart and smile at each other. I wonder if I look as happy as Cartman does... Just then, I remember my conversation with Butters and my face grows serious.

'I was talking to Butters today.'

Cartman snorts. 'Poor you.'

'Is it true that you used to cut yourself?'

He freezes, then averts his eyes away from me.

'Goddamn it, Butters,' he mutters. There's a short pause, and he eventually looks back at me. 'Look, it's not what you think. He's probably made it sound like I was some crying heartbroken pansy, singing 'Total Eclipse of the Heart' while slashing my wrists up. I used to look at photographs of you and stab myself in the forearm with craft scissors. You know, like aversion therapy? I figured that if I kept doing that, I'd associate your face with pain and wouldn't feel the way I did for you anymore. As you know, it didn't work.'

He smirks sardonically. I force a smile back, taking his hand in mine.

'Promise me you'll never do that again.'

He rolls his eyes. 'Kyle, it was just some retarded idea that I had when I was fourteen. It didn't even leave a scar.'

'I know. I just don't ever wanna make you feel like you need to do that again.'

'It wasn't your fault. Don't be such a pussy.' He squeezes my hand in his tightly, making me look down at where they're joined. 'So, what other secrets of mine did that under-developed little dweeb spill to you?'

I look back up. 'He told me about San Francisco.'

Cartman stares at me, horrified, and then sighs deeply. 'Jesus Christ...'

'How come you never told me about that?'

'Because! It was embarrassing!' he splutters, red-faced. 'I couldn't have anyone knowing that I'd saved the life of the Jew nerd and his nerdy Jew family!'

'Did you have feelings for me back then?' I ask, and then answer my own question with a laugh. 'I guess not, since we were only nine.'

Cartman shrugs. 'I've asked myself that question a few times. I'm not sure. I felt something for you. I just didn't know what. I felt like I hated you, but at the same time I couldn't be without you.'

I smile. 'I know what you mean.'

'I can't believe that asshole told you about San Francisco!' Cartman growls. 'He swore to me that he'd take it to the grave with him.'

'Well, I guess you'll just have to kill him now then,' I joke.

'Don't tempt me.'

'It's cool, Cartman,' I laugh. 'It's not like it was the only time you ever helped me out when we were kids anyway.'

He raises an eyebrow. 'What other times did I help you out?'

'Well, how about when you resuscitated me after Manbearpig killed me?'

'Oh yeah,' he smirks. 'I seem to recall that was the day you swore that you'd never suck my balls, ever. So much for **that** promise, you horny Jewrat.' I'm about to reply with an insult of my own, but Cartman continues. 'Remember when you saved me from that cave Al Gore got us trapped in?'

I cringe. 'Unfortunately, I also remember you crapping out all that treasure that you swallowed.'

He sniggers. 'Damn, was that ever stupid? I was still pooping out fake pearls two weeks later!'

'Too much information, dude!' I laugh. 'Hey, how about when you helped me save Ike from his paedophile teacher.'

He frowns. 'When was that?'

'Remember, in elementary school? You were the hallway monitor and dressed up like Dog the Bounty Hunter.' I smile fondly. 'It's one of my favourite childhood memories.'

Cartman raises an eyebrow. 'Your brother being molested by his teacher?'

I shake my head. 'No, us working together to help him! I know that you said you had your own agenda for helping me find Ike, but it just felt like we were real friends that day.' I grin. 'And you looked pretty cute in that costume.'

He rolls his eyes, but can't stop himself from smirking. 'There's nothing cute about me, Jew.'

'I beg to differ...'

Before he can argue with me, my lips are on his. He responds eagerly, opening his mouth to me and tasting my tongue with his own. I run my hands across his chest, gently pinching his nipples through his t-shirt with my thumb and forefinger. I'm rewarded for this when he pushes me down onto my back. He treats me to a long breath-taking kiss then pulls back to look at me.

'Wait here,' he mumbles. 'I'll be right back.'

He slowly gets up off the couch and disappears out of the room. As I'm waiting, I recline back into the couch cushions and close my eyes. It felt good to talk and laugh about our childhood memories like that. It was a nice reminder of how much we've been through together over the years, and a testament to how strong our relationship is and has always been. We've survived through so much strife and peril that it gives me every faith that we'll survive through this situation with Stan and my family too.

Suddenly, I feel a handful of damp material being clamped over my mouth and nose. A sweet alcohol-like smell floods my nostrils and I splutter, writhing desperately to get away from whatever substance is filling my lungs. I soon find that my muscles have lost the power to fight and my eyelids start to feel heavy. As they close, I can almost hear the slow paced thudding of my heart in my chest. The sound soon fades to nothing as I fall into a deep sleep.

* * * * *

I awake to darkness and a slight headache. What the fuck just happened? My surroundings feel familiar, but my head is too woozy for me to be sure of where I am. After I've shaken the feeling of dizziness, I become aware that I'm kneeling on a concrete floor in my underwear with my lower back pressed to something cold. I try to move to stand up, but I find that my hands are cuffed behind my back, locking me to whatever I'm leant against. I tug at my bonds experimentally, hearing the loud clinking of metal on metal.

The sound of a switch being flicked near scares the shit out of me. Through my slightly blurred vision, I can just about see the room become illuminated in an eerie orange-red glow from a single light-bulb dangling from the ceiling. I blink a few times and soon find I'm able to focus on my 'attacker'.

'Glad to see you're awake, brah.'

I hear the clump of heavy boots as Cartman steps towards me. His face is disguised by a dirty blond wig and fake facial hair. He's dressed in black leather pants, with matching gloves and armbands. On his top half he wears a black waistcoat that doesn't do much to conceal his broad torso. I don't even bother to hide the fact that I'm checking him out – he looks so fucking hot! But as good as he looks, that still doesn't explain what's going on.

'Cartman, what the hell-'

I'm cut off when Cartman strides over to me and delivers a quick slap to my face. Unlike the slap my mom hit me with yesterday, the blow sends familiar pleasurable shockwaves to my nether regions. Cartman drops down to his knees in front of me, gripping my face in his hand and forcing me to look at him.

'Shut your mouth, brah!' he hisses. 'And it's not Cartman. The name's Dawg.'

I can barely repress my smile. So, roleplaying is his new game. This should be interesting... He slowly stands and backs away from me, lowering his brown eyes as he reaches around in his waistcoat pocket. Goddamn...the outfit was cute when he was a kid, but now he just looks so fuck-able. He suits the facial hair too. I might see if I can stop him from shaving after this. He pulls a piece of paper from his pocket and studies it for a moment.

'Let's see...Broflovski, Kyle,' he mutters loudly enough for me to hear. 'Says here that you're wanted for numerous sexual crimes, including partaking in a variety of perverse sexual acts and seducing a 16 year old boy.'

Guilty as charged. I nearly laugh at this, but I don't want to break character.

'Usually for such an indiscretion, I would spray you down with bear mace and suggest that you go with Christ before turning you over to the appropriate authorities.' The leather material of his clothing creaks as he returns to his kneeling position in front of me, stroking my hair and bringing his face dangerously close to mine. 'But of course, since you're a filthy Jew, you **can't** go with Christ. And it just so happens that I'm all out of bear mace. So I have something else in mind for you. You're gonna personally pay me a little penance for your sins, ice-head.'

Every single word from Cart-err...Dawg's mouth sends a sensual shiver down my spine. Not even the anti-Semitic comment he sneaked in there killed my libido. I can't wait for my penance, but why should Dawg have all the fun here? I've never seen that stupid bounty hunter show before, so I just act in the way I'd expect a cocky convict to. I smirk defiantly and spit in Dawg's face. He looks surprised, and I'm more than happy to explain myself.

'Fuck you, Dawg!' I say mockingly. 'You think that I'm scared of a girly-haired, leather-wearing pussy like you? You look like a fucking faggot!'

I can tell by Dawg's eyes that he's delighted that I'm playing along with his game. He swipes my spit from his cheek with the back of his hand before violently grabbing a handful of my hair. I half-wince, half-moan as my scalp stings and Dawg locks eyes with me.

'Care to try that again, brah?' he hisses.

I smirk through the pain. 'I'm sorry. What I meant to say was...you look like a fucking dirty pot-smoking hippie!'

The laughter in Dawg's eyes tells me that my last comment nearly made him break character. He stares at me for a long time, and then suddenly releases me. He stands and slowly paces in front of me.

'I've decided that you talk too fucking much, brah. And I know exactly what'll shut you up.'

Dawg unzips his leather pants and produces his fully erect cock. I resist the urge to lick my lips as I eye it hungrily. He takes the hard shaft in his hand and gives it a few rubs before pushing it towards my mouth. I turn my head away rebelliously. I hear Dawg growl and he grabs a fistful of my hair, forcing me to look forwards.

'Open your mouth.'

His command overflows with the promise of punishment if it is defied. I purse my lips together tightly as the head of his cock nudges my lips.

'Open your fucking mouth, brah!'

Dawg's fingers tighten in my hair and I open my mouth to groan loudly at the delicious pain. As soon as my lips part, Dawg's hot stiff cock forces its way to the back of my mouth. I relax my throat muscles so that I don't gag as Dawg withdraws and plunges his hardness into my mouth over and over again. It takes me a while to catch up with Dawg's high speed rhythm, but I manage to start suck and licking at his cock as he slams into my mouth. It's so hard to breathe and with my hands bound behind my back, I feel incredibly vulnerable. It's an amazing feeling – my cock seems to agree as it threatens to burst through my underwear. Dawg seems to notice this as he withdraws from my mouth a final time. He drops down beside me, giving my hardness a chaste stroke through the black material.

'You like that, Broflovski? You like me fucking your face, you little slut?'

I can only nod for fear of being incoherent as Dawg's large hand slides into my underwear and starts slowly pumping my cock.

'Say it, bitch,' he orders.

'I...I li-ike you fucking my face, Dawg,' I practically whimper.

Dawg smirks. 'Thank me for it.'

'Thank you for fucking my face, Dawg.'

Nodding his satisfaction, he releases my cock and scoots back a little. He reaches for my ankles and pulls my legs out straight from underneath me. Dawg's surprisingly soft fingertips caress my stomach lightly as he reaches for my underwear. I shiver as my naked ass comes into contact with the cold concrete floor. I don't have a chance to complain as Dawg shoves my balled up underwear into my mouth, effectively gagging me. He pulls me further down to lie on the floor, and I hear a metallic screech as my bound wrists slide down whatever they're cuffed to. Dawg moves quickly to straddle my hips and produces a knife from his waistcoat pocket.

'Take my advice and hold still, brah,' he murmurs. 'The more you move, the more this is gonna smart.'

The blade scraps against the skin just below my belly button. I moan into my gag as Dawg skilfully slices into my flesh, manoeuvring his wrist as he carefully carves something into me. The sharp prickling pain of the crude incision almost instantly transfers into pleasure, and my cock throbs unbearably. I tug at the bonds holding my wrists, desperate to reach out and touch Dawg's skin. The frustration I feel when I'm unable to do this adds to the agonising rapture I'm currently swept up in.

When Dawg completes his handiwork, he moves off of me and flips me over onto my knees. I can now see that I've been tethered to a metal water pipe with a pair of heavy duty handcuffs. My wrists are now twisted at an awkward angle, almost to the point that it feels as if they may break or dislocate. Coupled with the sting of the cuts on my abdomen, I think it's the most pain of a sexual nature that I've ever been in. The hardness of my cock would indicate that I still haven't reached my limit, but I'm guessing from the way Dawg is moving around behind me that I'm about to get a good hard push to it.

'Get ready, brah. The Dawg's about to fuck you like the little bitch that you are.'

I pretend to struggle, but I can't prevent my thighs from twitching in anticipation. Without warning, Dawg pushes into me, only the dampness of his pre-cum slightly slicking his cock. I clamp my teeth down on the gag in my mouth as he buries himself to the hilt, and I feel warm leather and the cold metal of a zipper pressing against the cheeks of my ass. I hiss and groan through my clenched teeth as he briskly pulls back out and starts fucking me dry. White spots of light materialise in front of my eyes, clouding my vision in a shower of sparkle. I'm in so much agony, I'd probably pass out if I wasn't enjoying this so damn much.

I feel one of Dawg's hands trail across my back and over my hip to my cock. He gives me one or two teasing strokes before abandoning my pulsating member and reaching up to caress my chest. I growl in annoyance, wanting so much to be able to get my hands free so that I can give my hard cock some much needed attention. I know that Dawg's teasing is deliberate, and that he'll make it worth my while if I'm patient and take my penance like a good boy. Dawg's hand has reached my face and strokes my cheek lightly, then tugs the gag out from in between my lips. I gasp, whimpering loudly as Dawg continues pounding my ass.

'Who do you belong to, bitch?' he snarls.

'The Dawg,' I pant.

'Louder! Whose bitch are you?'

'I'm the Dawg's bitch!' I scream.

No sooner have those words left my mouth, Dawg's large hand wraps around my cock and starts pumping vigorously. I practically shriek in ecstasy, writhing against Dawg as he continues to fuck me hard and fast. It doesn't take long for the spots of light in my eyes to merge together, temporarily blinding me as I cry out my climax and explode onto the floor beneath me. I hear Dawg grunt loudly as he suddenly pulls out of me, and I soon feel warm streams of cum splashing out across my back. After the streams stop coming, I'm vaguely aware of Dawg dropping to his knees beside me, but my heart is beating too fast and loud for me to be fully alert as to what he's doing.

When I finally have my breath back, I look over at Dawg – or I guess I can return to calling him Cartman now. He's laid out on the floor beside me panting, still fully clothed with his moistened semi-erect cock hanging out of the fly of his leather pants. Now that the afterglow has started to fade, the pain my wrists are in is nowhere near as appealing. I groan uncomfortably and tug at my bonds. Cartman glances over at me.

'You alright?'

He looks quite concerned. How sweet.

'Yeah, it's just these fucking handcuffs.'

Cartman immediately reaches into the front pocket of his leather pants and produces a key to unlock the offending metal cuffs. I give my aching wrists a rub as he pulls my naked form on top of him and places a gentle kiss to my lips. His faux facial hair tickles my nose and I giggle softly.

'I'm okay now,' I say.

'You sure?'

'Positive,' I grin. 'That was fun.'

He smiles back. 'Thought you might enjoy it.'

'Where the fuck are we, by the way?' I ask, glancing around.

'My basement. Otherwise known as my darkroom. It's where I develop my photographs, thus the reason for the safelight.'

He gestures to the red light bulb dangling from the ceiling. I probably should have guessed.

'Wow, it's really kinda...'

'Romantic?' Cartman suggests.

I smirk. 'I was thinking sexy, but your sissy girly word is fine too.'

He frowns. 'Fuck you, Jew! I was trying to be nice!'

'I know, I'm sorry,' I snigger. 'I'd just hate to think that you're getting soft on me.'

He grins smugly. 'Nothing's soft about me when you're around, my dirty little Jew-rat.'

I should really tell him off for saying that, but I'm too sated and content to be angry right now. I simply roll my eyes and kiss him deeply, enjoying the feeling of his hands running over my sensitive body. In turn, I take full advantage of the fact that my hands are now free, letting my fingertips indulge themselves with the varying textures of hot skin, metal and leather. After a short while, we decided it's probably best to leave the basement and take a shower – dried on cum can be quite tricky to wash off. We dash upstairs into the bathroom, and I look into the mirror as Cartman starts the water running. I observe the hand mark across my cheek from where Dawg slapped me earlier and run my thumb over it fondly.

I feel arms encircle my waist from behind and see Cartman in the mirror, standing behind me. I moan lightly as he kisses my neck, and then again more loudly when he trails his fingers over the carving he made on my abdomen earlier. He smiles at me fondly in the mirror, then turns and starts undressing. I take the opportunity to look down at what was sliced into my skin. I'm expecting to find 'Cartman's bitch' or something similar, but I'm pleasantly surprised with what I see – a small heart shape with the inscription 'C&K' inside it. It's messy, but somehow it's perfect.

Just like him.

* * * * *

_Like I said earlier- this was kind of a filler chapter, not much going on. But the drama will veer its ugly head once again over the next two chapters. We still have two major confrontations to deal with!_

_I don't think many people will like the concept of Cartman being publically affectionate/possessive with Kyle, but...meh. Screw you, 'cause I think he would be. He hates everyone and doesn't care what they think, he likes attention and to shock people, and he likes to make it clear exactly what belongs to him. And, of course, he hearts his Jewboy._

_Incidentally, I would KILL for a plushie of Cartman dressed like Dawg. How awesome would that be?_

_Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter for what it was. Hopefully things will settle down for me over the next week and I'll be able to update a little quicker next time. Any comments or questions in the meantime, drop me a line!_

_DD_

_xx_


	17. Belonging

_Author Notes: Many thanks to all my lovely readers and reviewers! I'm still running low on time and energy at the moment, but I've managed to bang out this new instalment for you to feast your eyes on. This chapter has a hint of humour, a sprinkle of sexiness, and a massive dollop of drama. Enjoy!_

**Chapter 17 – Belonging**

The morning alarm rings a little earlier than usual so that I'm ready in time for Ike's visit. When I stretch, my muscles seem to moan in protest, still aching from the night before. It's a good kind of aching though. My wrists in particular are very sore, but I guess that's not uncommon amongst teenage boys anyway.

Suddenly, I realise that something isn't right – the alarm clock is still ringing. More specifically, it's still ringing because Cartman hasn't used it to add to the collection of dents in his bedroom wall yet. I reach out and feel around in the space on the mattress next to me, finding it empty and cold. I sit upright in bed and just as I'm about to call his name, I hear the faint sound of him singing downstairs. Cartman – singing, this early in the morning? That's not like him at all.

Having shut off the alarm clock, I slowly climb out of bed, slipping on one of Cartman's t-shirts and rubbing the sleep out of my eyes as I descend the stairs. I follow the noise to find that Cartman is in the kitchen, merrily belting out a medley of REO Speedwagon songs as he makes pancakes at the stove. I watch him curiously for a moment until he turns and realises that I'm standing there. His smile practically lights up the room as he saunters over to me and kisses my cheek.

'Good morning, Kyle!'

Jesus Christ, it's like something from Invasions of the Body Snatchers. It's so creepy to see him being so bright and chirpy. He's kind of acting like...

'Good morning...' I smirk. '...Butters.'

Cartman looks confused by my joke, then catches on and frowns. 'Hey! Don't compare me to that gay little nerd!'

I laugh. 'Sorry, dude! It's just that you're being so uncharacteristically cheerful.'

'I have every reason to be cheerful.'

He grins, gesturing for me to sit at the breakfast table as he finishes up at the stove. I sip at a glass of orange juice as I watch him serve up the pancakes, that radiant smile ever present on his face. I really like that smile on him – it somehow makes him look more...handsome, I guess. He places two plates down on the table in front of us as he takes the seat opposite me.

'I talked to my mom the other night while you were upstairs resting,' he explains. 'I told her the truth about how much I hate what she does to herself.'

This surprises me. Cartman actually told his mom what he told me the other day? That must have been tough for him. I kinda wish that he'd told me, but since he never gave me any indication that the idea of having such a conversation was causing him any distress, I guess it's cool. He pauses to cut up his pancakes and I do the same as I wait for him to continue.

'She told me that she'd never realised how much it hurt me and would reconsider her options.'

Our eyes meet across the table and I smile at him. 'That's great.'

'Yep,' he nods, as he casually sprinkles maple syrup on his pancakes. 'Wanna know what's greater than that?'

'What?'

He looks up at me, grinning huge again. 'She's decided that enough is enough. She's giving it up. The whoring, the drugs, everything. She just left about ten minutes ago to go see about getting a real job.'

My smile nearly mirrors his. 'Really?'

He nods enthusiastically. 'And she has an appointment this afternoon to get help for her addictions too.'

'That's awesome! I'm so proud of her for making that choice, and of you for finally talking to her.'

He blushes a little at that – I think that was probably the first time I've ever told Cartman that I was proud of him. I really am – of both of them. This is the best news that we've had all week.

'I can't take all the credit though,' Cartman says. 'If you hadn't have convinced me to spill my guts to you the other day, I'd probably still be bottling it all up. My feelings just felt so much easier to deal with after we spoke. So...thanks.'

It's my turn to blush - that was unexpected! I feel the need to point out that all I did was listen to his woes - **he** was the one brave enough to address the issue with his mom head on. But the grateful smile on his face hushes any argument that I have in mind. Instead, I simply nod and smile coyly.

'You're welcome.'

We return to our food and eat in silence for a while. I'm really glad Liane has decided to turn her life around. Cartman's right – she **does** deserve better. And so does he. I lay my fork down, having only eaten just over half of what was on my plate. Not surprisingly, Cartman is always really generous with his food portions, and more often than not it's a little too much for me. He eyes my plate as I wipe my mouth off with a napkin.

'Is that all you're eating?'

I nod. 'Yeah, I'm full.'

'Seriously?' He arches an eyebrow. 'You've hardly touched it.'

'I just don't eat that much,' I shrug. 'You know that.'

'And you wonder why you're always feeling light-headed?' Cartman gestures to my plate. 'Eat, Jew-tard.'

Jew-tard? That really irritates me for some reason – it's way too early in the morning for me to be dealing with Jew-related insults.

'Don't tell me what to do, you domineering Nazi asshole!'

He rolls his eyes, talking with his mouth full. 'Fine, be unhealthy. See if I care.'

'You're a fine one to talk about healthy eating habits!'

'I'm just saying that you could do with putting some meat on that scrawny Jewish ass of yours, is all!'

I can't help but growl - I hate it when he calls me scrawny! 'Rather a scrawny ass than a big fat one!'

'I'm not fat,' he says, typically indignant. 'I'm just generously proportioned.'

I snort derisively. 'That's a new one. Who came up with that bullshit - your mom?'

Cartman smirks. 'No. **You**, actually.'

Touché...

'Whatever,' I sulk.

He cackles triumphantly, returning to his breakfast as I pick up my fork and lift up another scoop of pancake. I have no intention of eating it though. Instead, I pull back the head of the fork with my free hand and catapult the food across the table. I'm delighted when it lands with a splat roughly in the centre of Cartman's forehead. He nearly falls backwards out of his chair, clearly not expecting my attack. He looks at me in bewilderment, the lump of sticky pancake slowly sliding down his face as I start giggling like a lunatic.

'You look retarded!'

Cartman's mouth hangs open in disbelief at my insult. Screw him – I can't be the sensible one in the relationship all the time, can I? He knows better than anyone that being immature is fun! It takes me a few seconds to realise Cartman is smirking, and it's only when I notice him rise from his chair with a bottle of maple syrup in his hand that I stop laughing.

'Oh, no! Don't you fucking dare!'

My warning falls on deaf ears as Cartman advances on me, wielding his chosen weapon and grinning maniacally. Diving out of my seat, I try to make a getaway but he's too quick for me and I'm promptly pinned against the kitchen bench. I reach up for the syrup bottle, struggling to keep it in an upright position as I try to wrestle it from Cartman's grasp. Of course, the pressure on the bottle causes the syrup to spurt out onto everything – the floor, the bench, Cartman, but mainly onto me. I let out a cry of frustration, which is drowned out by Cartman's laughter.

'What's the matter, Kyle?' he sniggers. 'You're acting as if you've never had sticky stuff all over your face before.'

'Fuck you!' I reply lamely.

Suddenly, Cartman releases his weapon and grabs at my waist instead. Before I can move to retaliate, his lips are assaulting mine. The bottle, forgotten about, clatters to the kitchen floor. The taste of pancakes and coffee teases my tongue, and the sweet scent of our maple syrup-coated skin fills my nostrils. Cartman pulls back, leaning his forehead against mine as he smirks in satisfaction. I roll my eyes at the gratified look on his face.

'Fatass,' I mutter.

'Jew.'

Whatever reply that I had in mind is reduced to a gasp when Cartman's teeth graze against my neck and he starts sucking the syrup from my skin. I try not to touch him since my hands are also covered in sticky stuff, but I can't help myself. Cartman moans against my skin as my fingertips trail along his shoulders, across his back and even into his hair. He doesn't seem to care that I'm coating him in even more syrup, so I decide that I don't care either.

Suddenly, Cartman breaks from playing sugar vampire and returns his attention to my lips. His hands slide under the lightweight material of the t-shirt I'm wearing and caresses the crude engraving they crafted on my skin the night before. The tingling sensation that is created as his fingertips brush the sensitive skin goes straight to my cock. It occurs to me that we've never done it in the kitchen before. Not that we have time to right now, but it's a thought for the future.

Cartman must have had a similar thought, as he pulls away from me and glances over at the digital time display on the microwave. 'As much as I'm enjoying this, your brother's due here in fifteen minutes.'

'Crap!' Forgot about that! 'I gotta get ready!'

I press one more quick kiss to his lips and start to leave the kitchen but then I catch sight of the mess we've made. There's literally syrup all over the fucking place! It looks quite hilarious, but I don't want to just leave it for Liane to have to clean up when she gets home. I grab the dishcloth from the sink, but Cartman takes it from me and gets to work with it. I'm about to protest, but he cuts me off.

'Just get your scrawny ginger ass upstairs before you run out of time. I know what you Jews are like about punctuality.'

I roll my eyes as it crosses my mind that I'm probably gonna be stuck listening to Cartman regurgitating Jewish stereotypes until the day I die. I decide to retaliate this time, roughly cupping his face in my hands and licking a large smear of syrup from his face.

'Thanks for breakfast,' I say with a grin.

He groans in mock displeasure, making a dramatic show of wiping my saliva from his cheek as I dash out of the room to get showered and dressed. I'm just about finished going through the motions of my usual morning routine in time for the doorbell to ring. I open up to find Ike fidgeting nervously in the doorway. He practically dives into the house, probably paranoid that my mom has cottoned onto his plan and followed him. It wouldn't surprise me. I close the door behind us, and my little brother immediately pulls me into his arms and hugs me so tightly that my breakfast almost shoots back up out of my stomach. I can't remember the last time Ike hugged me, especially not like this. You'd think he hadn't seen me for a decade.

'Hi, Ike,' I say with a chuckle.

'Hey, big brother.'

His face is pressed to my chest, muffling his reply. As I pat Ike's back, I notice that Cartman is observing us from the kitchen doorway. I grin when I notice he still has patches of maple syrup on his cheek. He shoots me one of his rare gentle smiles and returns to the kitchen as I lead Ike into the living room.

'What did you tell Mom?' I ask.

Ike sighs as we drop down next to each other on the couch. 'I said that some of the guys from the hockey team were getting in some extra practice this morning. I don't think she would have let me out of the house if she'd known where I was really going.'

'She's still firmly on the warpath then?'

He nods sadly. 'Sorry, bro. I've been trying to talk her round, but you know how she is.'

'What about Dad?' I ask warily.

'Oh, he's fighting **your** corner,' Ike says with an optimistic grin. 'He had a father-son talk to me about the situation. I guess he figured I wouldn't understand or something.' He rolls his eyes. I think sometimes our parents forget that there's not a lot that Ike doesn't understand. 'Anyway, he kept saying how smart and mature you are, and that you're old enough now to make your own choices about what you wanna be and who you wanna be with.'

I smile, truly ecstatic that my dad doesn't hate me too. At least I can rely on one of my parents to see sense. Good old Dad.

'Naturally, I agree,' Ike continues. 'All we need to do now is bring Mom around to our way of thinking. And of course, ensures that she doesn't go all gaga-whacko like she usually does.'

I shudder - Heaven forbid! 'Yeah, I was wondering when she might make her first move. Any ideas what her action plan might be?'

Silently, Ike reaches into his backpack and produces a big blue folder that says 'Operation Big Brother' on the front. I guess he's taking this all very seriously. I'm flattered. He also pulls out a pair of thick rimmed reading glasses, which he dons. Poser – he's ten years old! He doesn't need fucking reading glasses. Yet there he sits, looking like a Woody Allen tribute act as he clears his throat and starts rearranging the papers inside the file.

'As yet, the information I have is limited,' he begins fluently. 'Looking back, I probably shouldn't have made it so clear to her that I'm on your side. It's effectively severed my allegiance with her. She's deliberately been trying to make sure I'm out of earshot when you're being discussed. However, fear not...' He pauses dramatically. 'I'm currently working on a fool-proof strategy to get me back in the loop.'

Wow... Ike and Cartman should really sit down and have a chat sometime. Their mutual love of scheming and subterfuge would give them plenty to talk about. My brother rifles through his documents, which appears to consist of endless pages of scribbled notes, various graphs displaying random data and blueprints of our house.

'I was gonna get the whole house bugged, call in a couple of favours. But due the unexpected emergence of your situation, I haven't managed to find the time or resources thus far.'

I raise an eyebrow. 'Err...that's fine, Ike.'

Bugs? Favours? Resources? Jesus Christ...

'However, I **did** manage to bug the car and put a tap on the phone,' he says proudly. 'I have transcripts of numerous calls that she's made to the Rabbi, asking him what she can do to get through to you. She also wants you to see a councillor. She thinks you need clarification with regards to why you feel the way you do.'

He hands me the documents in question, and I run my eyes over them. Typical fucking Mom! If it was anyone else's kid in this situation, she'd be ranting and raving about how being gay isn't a choice and that we should accept people for who they are. Just because it's me, she's gotta go digging around for a 'cure'. What a self-righteous, hypocritical bitch. Ike scans his eyes over another page of notes, his eyes widening when he comes across something useful.

'Ooh, my car bug managed to pick up on the tail-end of a very interesting conversation. From what I understand, Mom's seriously considering emptying your college fund and donating it to the synagogue if you can't be cured.'

Is she serious? How petulant! Ike whips off his glasses, tossing them back into his bag along with the now closed file.

'I mean, how un-fucking-fair?' He rants, a little less eloquent now. 'Dad was **so** furious when she came out with that one. I've never heard him so angry! He said that it's totally ridiculous and wrong to ruin your chances at a good career over this, but she figures why would her gay son need to make a decent living when he's never going to have a family to support,' Ike rolls his eyes. 'I swear, that's gotta be the most retarded thing she's ever said, and that's saying something!'

I agree. So, that's what it's gonna come down to - blackmail and idle threats? Luckily, I'm not as much of a Jew as my mother is.

'She can keep her damn money. It means nothing to me,' I say softly, with a shrug. 'Some things are more important.'

'I kinda figured that you'd say something like that,' Ike says with a hesitant smile. 'I tried to stick up for you, pointing out that you could still potentially have a family with your boyfriend someday, but I think that just pissed her off even more...' He bites his lip unsurely, and then suddenly looks annoyed. 'I can't believe Stan did this to you. I always thought that he was such a cool guy. What a stupid asshole.'

'He **is** a cool guy, Ike,' I protest, though not with a lot of conviction. 'He's just having trouble accepting my relationship with Cartman, is all...'

I trail off as I glance absently at a picture frame on the coffee table in front of us. It's a picture of Cartman with his mom, taken about a year ago. Ike follows my gaze and examines the photograph intently before turning his attention back to me.

'Does he treat you well?' he asks quietly.

'Like a prince.' Okay, that was a vast over-exaggeration. So sue me. It was the first thing that popped into my head.

'And he really makes you happy?'

I smile. 'Like you wouldn't believe.'

Ike grins. 'And does he make sweet love to your tight queer little asshole all night long?'

I can't help but snort with laughter. Typical Ike!

'All night, every night,' I reply as casually as possible.

Ike chuckles. 'Good.'

Gotta love little brothers.

* * * * *

My chat with Ike didn't last much longer. We came to the conclusion that I should just sit tight for now and wait for Mom to make the first move. In the meantime, Ike has promised to do his best to convince her that there's nothing wrong with me or what I'm doing. I love him for it, but we both know he's got a better chance of squeezing blood from a stone.

School was a lot easier today. I actually got through most of my classes without some random motherfucker tapping me on the shoulder and hissing 'Yo, Broflovski? You really screwing that fat kid who tries to kill you?' I guess Cartman and I are old news now. I didn't so much as catch a glimpse of Stan all day long. I'm not sure if that's a bad thing or a good thing, but I'm honestly not too worried about it for now. I'm trying to resolve the issues with my family first – there'll be plenty of time to deal with him later.

It wasn't until lunchtime that I realised something wasn't quite right about Cartman today. He barely spoke to anyone, and I noticed him staring at me strangely across the table, then looking away when I caught him. I couldn't remember if he'd been acting like that when we'd walked to school – I think he **was** a little quiet. I was probably just so stoked after seeing Ike that I didn't really notice. I wonder what could be up all of a sudden – he seemed fine at breakfast time. When we meet at the gates after school to walk home, he still has that strange look about him. I decide to be direct with him.

'You've been pretty quiet today. You okay?'

He gazes at me blankly for a second before shaking his head slowly.

'I need to talk to you.'

His tone of voice really freaks me out - it sounds serious. I hope it isn't bad news about his mom – I know she was going to the doctors today as part of her plan to get clean. He sighs deeply, grabbing hold of my hand. Very tightly.

'Come on.'

He leads me in the direction of our secret clearing. For once, I don't question or complain about the hand holding. We trudge through the trees wordlessly. For every step I take, more concerned thoughts build in my head and the anxiety whirls in my stomach. What the hell could Cartman possibly have to tell me? When we reach the clearing he releases my hand. I can practically feel the tension radiating from his body. He looks down at his feet and takes a deep breath.

'I think we should end this.'

His abrupt announcement completely confuses me, as if he were talking in a foreign language. It takes my brain a good minute or so to finally comprehend his words, but I refuse to believe what I just heard. Maybe I just misunderstood.

'What are you talking about?'

'We shouldn't be together anymore,' he says matter-of-factly. 'It's causing too much shit.'

No way... I feel an agonising wave of darkness wash over my heart. I open my mouth to speak, but I can't. I just stare at the top of his head in disbelief. Is he really giving up, after all we've been through? When I don't say anything, he continues.

'If it makes things easier, I'll ask my mom if me and her can leave town. It'll be ideal. She could use a fresh start now that she's moving on with her life too.'

This can't be happening. This is insane! How can he so suddenly switch from carving our initials in my skin, to wanting to skip town and move on with his life? I suddenly regain my voice.

'Cartman, you're not making any sense,' I say shakily. 'Why do you want to do this? We can't just give in to my mom!'

He shakes his head, still not looking at me. 'It's not about giving in, Kyle.'

'Then what?' I snap. 'Why are you doing this to us? I made you a promise that I'd never leave you, remember?'

'And **I** promised **you** that I'd never hurt you.'

'What the fuck do you think you're doing right now?'

My angry voice cracks into a sob. Tears spring from my eyes and burn trails down my hot cheeks. My hands cover my face. I can't even stand to look at him anymore - it hurts too much. A hand clutches at my shoulder.

'Kyle, please just hear me out...'

I shrug away from Cartman's touch and turn to leave. I don't want to hear any more. Nothing he could say to me would make sense of what he's doing to us. I don't get very far before Cartman's hands grasp my forearms. He forcefully pulls me back round to look at him. I find myself witnessing the immense sadness in his brown eyes for the first time. He gazes at me, looking as devastated as I do, his fond smile slightly crooked with heartbreak. I don't understand - if he's hurting too, then why is he doing this? Why is he saying these things?

'I love you, Kyle.'

Oh, God... I feel such a bittersweet happiness at hearing those words. I want to smile, but how can I when my heart is breaking? I've never felt more frightened or confused. Cartman gently cups my cheek in his soft hand. His voice lowers to a whisper as he explains.

'I love you more than anything in this world. Being with you has been like a dream come true to me and I never want to give you up.'

I shake my head in disbelief. 'Then why-'

He interrupts me. 'But you're having to sacrifice so much for us to be together. **Too** much. And it isn't fair.'

Realisation suddenly dawns on me. He must have overheard my conversation with Ike earlier. I'm about to interject with an argument, but once again Cartman beats me to it.

'I'm not worth giving up your future for. I'm not going to be responsible for fucking your life up. I've wasted so many years making you miserable and I don't wanna do it anymore. You're an amazing, talented little Jewrat who deserves the best out of life, and you're not going to get that with me. You're better off without me.'

I hear what he's saying and believe it to be his true feelings. But while I appreciate his honesty, I refuse to accept his reasoning. If I had ever believed for a second that I was better off without him, does he really think I'd be standing here in front of him now? What's so special about me that I shouldn't have to sacrifice for the one I love? Does he really believe himself to be so undeserving of me?

Low self esteem or not, I refuse to let him do this to us. I'm not letting him give up and hurt us both over nothing. I refuse.

He opens his mouth to speak again, but the words never come as I silence him, capturing his lips with mine. I throw my arms around his neck, pouring all of my adoration and passion for him into one kiss. Tears still stream from my eyes, drenching both of our faces. My aching heart resonates loudly in my chest, screaming to him, willing him to realise the love that is beating there for him. I reluctantly break our clinch, ignoring the stunned expression on his face as I look him in the eye.

'Are you fucking stupid?' I whisper through my sorrow. 'Don't you see? You **are** the best thing in my life. You **are** my future. And you're worth every sacrifice.'

He looks stunned, his passionate brown eyes marred by turmoil and doubt. He tries to turn his face away from me, but I don't let him.

'Cartman, I could get stuck with cleaning toilets for the rest of my life, and as long as I get to spend every day with you I'll gladly do it with a smile on my face. You've made me the happiest little 'Jewrat' on God's green earth, and I'll be damned if I'm giving you up now.'

He smiles weakly when I use his word to insult myself, and I return the gesture. My arms tighten around him, threatening to never let go. I can feel his shuddery uneven breath on my lips as the uncertainty slowly starts to fade.

'And even if I am amazing, talented, whatever...I'm nothing without you.'

He closes his eyes when I press my lips to his again, and my heart nearly overflows with joy when he tentatively kisses back. When we part, he wears a neutral expression.

'And always remember,' I say softly. 'I belong to you...we belong together.'

A small smile tugs at Cartman's lips as his arms gradually encircle my waist. He clears his throat before breaking into a confident smirk.

'You bet your ass we do!'

His lips close in on mine again, and he kisses me with his normal level of vigour and conviction. The darkness engulfing my heart clears and an overwhelming sense of relief warms my insides. This time when we part, his face is once again recognisable as the face of Eric Cartman.

**My** Cartman.

He grins cockily, twirling a strand of my hair around his finger. 'You sure you got what it takes to take me on permanently, Jew?'

'Positive,' I nod, smirking. 'Provided that you can singlehandedly keep me satisfied, that is.'

Cartman laughs. 'I think I can handle that.'

He cocks his head to one side and studies my face with such interest, it's almost as if he's looking at me for the very first time. Suddenly, his eyes start to well up with tears. He chews on his bottom lip, pulling me into his arms and crushing me in a tight hug that I'm more than happy to return.

'I'm so sorry that I hurt you,' he whispers.

I've never heard him sound so remorseful. He really did hurt me – I've never felt pain like it before, physical or otherwise. But in a way, the experience has confirmed to me how very real my feelings for Cartman truly are. I really can't even begin to comprehend the idea of being without him.

'Don't be,' I murmur back. 'I love you so much.'

He sighs happily, nuzzling his damp face into the crook of my neck. I smile and inhale his scent deeply, allowing the familiar warmth of his body to mend my frayed nerves. I'll always need these arms around me.

'Err...guys?'

The familiar voice startles both of us into separating. Less than seven feet away, Stan leans against a tree, trying to look casual and failing miserably. He watches us cautiously with gentle and concerned eyes, all of the poison in them from the previous day drained away. Despite this, my faces flushes red – exactly how much of our conversation did he just witness? Cartman growls under his breath as his arm protectively slides around my waist.

'What the fuck do you want?' he snaps.

'Cartman, let me handle this,' I say firmly.

Cartman sighs moodily as Stan just kinda stands there, looking awkward. I try to approach him, but Cartman won't let me. I decide that it's probably safer to humour Cartman and deal with Stan from where I'm standing. What the hell do I say?

'Err...so, what the fuck **do** you want?'

Cartman snorts in amusement, though it's unclear as to whether it's me that he finds funny or the uncomfortable expression on Stan's face as he struggles to find his words.

'Sorry, I err...I followed you guys in here. I got your message from Wendy, and then Kenny and Butters said that...' He trails off and sighs. 'Look, it doesn't matter. I just wanted to apologise to you.'

Cartman and I exchange glances as Stan boldly takes a few hesitant steps towards us. I can feel Cartman's body tense up beside me. I keep a firm grip on his arm – I trust him, but this situation is a tinderbox just waiting to go up in flames.

'Kyle,' Stan begins. 'I honestly thought that Cartman was playing one of his little head games with you and I couldn't understand how you were stupid enough to be falling for it. I was scared for you and I admit that I totally overreacted.' He cringes visibly. 'And you can't even begin to imagine how sorry I am. I've really fucked things up.'

'Yep,' Cartman says bluntly with a sharp nod.

'I wanna make things right again though,' Stan adds hastily. 'So I called your mom earlier and told her that I was a little rash in the assumptions I made about your relationship. I told her that I think you deserve a chance to be heard. That's one of the reasons I followed you guys. She agreed that you could both come over and talk things through tonight...'

Stan trails off, flashing me one of his best comforting best friend smiles. No way! What in the hell could Stan have possibly said to my mom to convince her to give us that chance? Who cares – my Super Best Friend rules! I notice that Stan is regarding Cartman uneasily. With good reason, I guess – Cartman has been venomously glaring holes in Stan ever since he first made his presence known to us. Stan comes closer to us, actually making eye contact with Cartman. Brave man.

'Cartman...I owe you an apology of your own,' he says gently. 'I think you really do care about Kyle, and that your priority is his happiness. Please take care of him. And don't ever hurt him.'

'Likewise,' Cartman says darkly.

He eyes Stan warily, and then hesitantly extends his hand, which Stan firmly shakes. I smile, particularly impressed with Cartman's level of maturity. He still doesn't look one hundred percent happy with Stan, but it's a good starting point. Stan turns his attention back to me.

'So you're definitely cool with this?' I ask.

He sighs. 'Honestly? It's still a little fucked up. I mean...it's **you guys**, after all!'

He has a valid point. It can't be easy to watch his two lifelong friends who have always been enemies making out with each other. Stan jams his hands into his pocket, shrugging his shoulders casually.

'I'm sure I'll get used to it though,' he smiles softly. 'But even if I don't, you'll still have my support.'

He extends his hand for me to shake, but I do him one better and pull him into a hug. I'll probably get a lecture from Cartman later for being too forgiving again, but I don't mind. Stan and I part before our embrace gets too awkward and we grin at each other.

'C'mon,' I say. 'Let's get out of here.'

The other two seem to agree, silently following as I make a move to leave. A quick check of my watch tells me that it's coming up to four thirty. It's not long until I'll have to face my mom. I think I'm ready though. Just as I'm about to approach a gap in the trees, I feel a hand on my forearm. I look up at Stan, who is a little red in the face.

'Err...you might not wanna go that way.' He says with a nervous laugh. 'I kinda...barfed at the sight of you guys making out just then.'

I roll my eyes good-naturedly. Like I said, it can't be easy for the guy. Cartman is a little less tactful and practically busts a gut laughing.

'Aw, what's wrong? South Park's top high school football superstar can't stomach a little boy on boy action? Fucking pussy!'

I sigh, swatting at Cartman's shoulder listlessly. 'Be nice, fatass!'

Cartman flips me off in response. 'Up yours, Jew!'

I hear sniggering and turn my head to find Stan smirking and shaking his head at our behaviour. I guess that's a pretty positive reaction - at least he's not puking. It's been a pretty exciting day, and it isn't over yet. But no matter how it ends, I'm so glad that I have my best friend back on side and that he's actually willing to accept the way Cartman and I feel for each other. There's no longer any need for there to be secrets between us - I can finally tell him the truth about everything that's been going on. Suddenly, Stan's nose twitches and his amused expression melts into a confused frown.

'Do you guys smell maple syrup?'

Well...maybe not everything.

* * * * *

_You didn't honestly think that I'd break them up, did you? _

_Apologies for the sap overload. I've never wrote a break up scene before and I hope that I was more poetic than emo. I fucking hate emo!_

_Not much more to say this time around other than stay tuned for Kyle vs Sheila! Coming soon!_

_Thanks for reading!_

_DD_

_xx_


	18. Progress

_Author Notes: Many thanks for the reads and reviews. And a super special awesome thanks to CarnivalRiotX3 who has made not one but TWO stunning videos on Youtube as a tribute to Kyle in Chains! The link to her channel is /user/CarnivalRiotLovex3. Check out her vids and leave her some comments, 'cause she is the coolest for taking time out to do something so nice. Here's chapter 18! Enjoy!_

**Chapter 18 - Progress**

The mystery of how Stan managed to coerce my mother into suddenly being so biddable towards us didn't last long. As we walked from the clearing, he sheepishly explained to us that it was actually my dad who had initially agreed to the meeting. Stan had called my house early that morning and started off by speaking to my mom, but the second that she found out what he had in mind, she hung up on him. Not letting this deter him, Stan tried calling again - a very brave move, considering my mom's infamous temper. As luck would have it, my dad answered the phone and immediately agreed to having me over to talk. Stan heard my mom protesting in the background, but Dad put his foot down and she grudgingly gave in. I don't hold any ill will against Stan for bending the truth a little – I'm just glad to have him back on side. Moreover, I'm shocked that anything managed to make my mom deviate, however slightly, from her usual resolute unflinching manner. I guess miracles **do** happen every day.

When we got to Cartman's house, Stan wished us luck and went on his way. In the half hour that we took to freshen up, Cartman and I decided to just play it cool tonight, and to speak only when spoken to – usually the best course of action in matters concerning my mother. Liane got home just as we were preparing to leave, which gave Cartman the idea to bring her along just in case my mom tried anything funny. I didn't have to think twice about agreeing – I don't trust my mom anymore than he does. Of course, Liane is coming with us directly from a day of job hunting, so she looks more presentable than I've ever seen her – wearing a smart grey pinstripe pants suit with her hair pulled back tightly into a ponytail. Hopefully, this new more sophisticated look will discourage my mom from making any further derogatory remarks about Liane's lifestyle.

I feel like I'm part of a funeral procession as the three of us march over to my parents' house. Even Cartman is unnaturally quiet. The mood is so sombre that part of me doesn't care less about the outcome of this meeting, just so long as it's over and done with as soon as possible and normalcy can resume once more. Then again, a larger part of me really **does** care about the outcome. I really wish I could predict what's going to happen, but I just can't. I also don't know if I should be feeling nervous or not - knowing that my dad is gonna be there makes me feel less inclined to be, yet at the same time knowing that my mom is gonna be there too gives me every reason to be.

I take a deep breath and ring the doorbell. It feels like such a strange thing to do – this is supposed to be my home, after all. My dad answers.

'Hello, everyone,' he greets us, smiling warmly. 'Come on in.'

The three of us enter the house, following my dad into the living room. It eerily quiet - the television is off and Ike is nowhere to be seen. It doesn't feel like home. My mom sits in her usual armchair silently, staring blankly at the space on the wall above the television where our family portrait used to hang. All four of us stand there watching her cautiously, as if she were a rattlesnake poised to strike at any moment. Dad gestures for us to take a seat, and we hesitantly comply. Liane and I sit either end of the couch, and Cartman settles in between us. For some reason I decide to throw caution to the wind and choose the end of the couch closest to my mom's armchair. Once I'm as comfortable as I can be, I clear my throat and open my mouth to speak. At that precise second, my heart starts to speed up as a familiar feeling of fear grips my chest. This is exactly how my mom used to make me feel when I was a kid. Uneasy. Intimidated. Afraid to be me.

'Hi Mom,' I say quietly.

She slowly looks up but doesn't meet my eyes. Instead, she seems to stare fixatedly at the healing wound on my lip. There's a slight trace of guilt in her face, but it's overshadowed by the look of hatred that she regards Cartman with when her eyes wander in his direction. Dad clears his throat, trying to break the tension and failing miserably.

'So how are you, Kyle?' he asks.

I look up eagerly, glad of an excuse to look away from my mom.

'I'm fine,' I reply as brightly as possible. 'Cartman's mom has been really supportive.'

I wonder if that sounded too much like I was implying that Cartman's mom is so much nicer than mine. I hope so – that's how it was intended. If my comment stung at all, Mom doesn't show it and continues to stare vacantly at nothing in particular. Dad nods and smiles affectionately at me, as if he's genuinely interested and pleased to hear that I'm okay. He wanders over to Mom's chair and sits on the arm closest to me so that he can face me. Mom noticeably bristles – she really hates people sitting on the arms of chairs. One of the many things that she hates.

'Kyle, your mother and I wanted to meet with you like this so that we could listen to your views, and so that you in turn could listen to ours. Hopefully, we'll all be able to reach some sort of happy medium together.'

I know my dad is trying to sound impartial, but listening to clinical lawyer talk isn't what I need right now. I'm not a member of a jury that he's trying to convince of his arguments – I'm his son. He notices my unimpressed expression and changes tactics.

'What I mean is, we'd really like to know more about how you're feeling so that we can develop a better understanding of what's going on in your head. And in your heart**.'**

That's more like it. Mom seems to disagree and rolls her eyes, still refusing to look at me properly. I take it her active role in this meeting is still strictly being carried out under duress. Why is she even here in that case? She doesn't look remotely interested in me, my feelings or what I have to say. Regardless, I can't let this distract me. I'm here to give my views, so that's what I'll do.

'How I'm feeling...' I trail off as my heart skips yet another beat. Old habits die hard. I just need to keep reminding myself that I don't care what she thinks anymore. I've spoke up for myself before – I can do it again. I swallow hard and start over. 'How I'm feeling is that I've finally discovered a very important part of my life and I really wish that the people I care about could bring themselves to be happy for-'

My voice cracks, rendering me mute. Fuck! I refuse to allow myself to cry in front of my mom! I'm not giving her the satisfaction of knowing how much she's affecting me! I feel Cartman's hand on mine, despite the glare that my mom shoots him for this action. I look over at him and he smiles at me gently. Would it be totally corny if I said just seeing that smile makes me feel so much better? God, I wanna kiss him so much right now. I wonder if **that** would get a reaction out of my mom. I sigh deeply as I look back at her. Her eyes are still locked on my and Cartman's entwined hands.

'Mom, I'm sorry that I've disappointed you,' I say with all the sincerity I can muster. 'I'm sorry that you're never going to see me become a lawyer, get married to a nice Jewish girl and have children. But the fact is I can't change who I am. Nor do I want to. I like guys, and I'm happy that way. Please accept me for who I am.'

As if my semi-apologetic words were some kind of magic spell, they make my mom finally look me in the eye. Her expression has softened slightly, and her eyes don't seem to be overflowing with hate like they were before. It's still so hard to tell how she could be feeling. She doesn't look sad or angry, but she doesn't look happy either. There's just...nothing.

'Kyle, you're my son,' she begins steadily. 'And although I **am** disappointed in your choice of lifestyle, I can accept you as a homosexual.'

Well, I guess that's my theory about her being a closet homophobic out of the window. Ignoring the fact that she referred to my being gay as a 'choice', this is a pretty great starting point! I smile gratefully and I'm about to say something when she holds up a hand to silence me.

'I can accept that you'll never be with a woman and that you'll only ever be with men. I can even accept you being with one of your friends, like Stanley or even that odd boy Kenny...'

Mom's eyes briefly flicker across to Liane before she continues.

'But what I can **never** accept is you being with Eric Cartman.'

My heart plummets to the pit of my stomach. So, that's it? It's nothing to do with me generally liking guys - she just doesn't approve of the specific guy that I'm with? In a way, that makes things so much worse. Next to me, Cartman sighs and abruptly releases my hand. As if it were a reflex action, I make a grab for his retreating hand, lacing my fingers in between his. I tug our joined hands onto my knee in full view of my mom, in outright and deliberate defiance of her previous statement. Cartman shifts uncomfortably, but I'm afraid he's just gonna have to deal with the awkwardness for now. I'm not going to allow my mother's callous comments to reawaken all of the doubts that he had about us earlier. I'm not going to let her fuck things up for us.

'What about the fact that I love him?' I say evenly. 'Doesn't that count for anything?'

Mom sighs impatiently, but Dad cuts her off before she can speak again.

'We're just concerned that you're too young to fully appreciate that sort of love, Kyle,' he says.

'That's not what Mom just said,' I say, probably a little too defensively. 'And what do you mean, 'that sort of love'? Do you mean gay love? Are you saying if Cartman was a girl, we wouldn't be having this conversation?'

Neither of my parents seems to have an answer, so I continue.

'I've known Cartman since I was in preschool. I know him better than I know myself. I can't even put into words how he makes me feel, and I truly believe that we're destined to be together.'

Regardless of how heartfelt my words are, I can tell that my mom is starting to lose her temper. I can practically hear her teeth grinding together. She tries to speak calmly, but her impatience is blatant.

'Kyle, you may well care deeply for your friend, but his reputation is just so-'

'He's not my **friend**, Mom,' I interrupt, seconds from losing it myself. 'And his reputation isn't what I love about him. If you just gave him a chance, you'd-'

'He's had plenty of chances, Kyle!' Mom snaps. 'I simply can't ignore all of the outrageous and awful things he's done over the years!'

'I can!' I say, just as harshly. 'Why can't you?'

'He's anti-Semitic and a racist! He tried to eradicate your people! He gave you HIV, for goodness sake!'

'He was nine years old!'

'He's a troublemaker, and always has been! You're an intelligent young man with a shining future, Kyle! Do you honestly believe that he's good enough for you?'

'Will **anyone **ever be good enough for me in your eyes, Mom?' I yell, exasperated. 'He makes me happy! Doesn't that mean anything to you?'

Cartman suddenly releases my hand and raises his, turning all eyes in the room in his direction.

'Can I say something?' he asks.

So much for speaking only when you're spoken to. A chill runs down my spine - I really hope whatever Cartman has in mind isn't going to be a repeat of his self-doubting speech to me earlier. Receiving no answer from anyone, Cartman takes the silence as an affirmative. He lowers his hand and leans forward to lock eyes with my mother, his brown eyes wide and pleading. She scowls back at him, and he does an outstanding job of not letting it faze him.

'Mrs Broflovski, I appreciate your concern and I totally understand where you're coming from. You're right. I'm not good enough for Kyle.'

Oh no...I try to cut in to voice an argument, but Cartman seems to anticipate this. He glances at me briefly, and I notice that the look in his eyes isn't sad or fearful but calm and determined, so much so that I don't feel the need to deny him his right to speak anymore. Satisfied that I'm not going to interrupt his speech, he continues.

'I realise that he could do so much better than me. He could have anyone his heart desired. Yet for some reason, he's chosen me. And I feel so lucky that he's made that choice. I may be rough around the edges. I may have made mistakes, more than I can count. But I love your son. I'd give my life for him. And if I truly believed that he was going to be happier without me, you wouldn't see me for dust...'

He pauses dramatically, taking the time to look over at me and smile that uplifting, kissable smile from before. My heart soars - I wonder if he knows what he's doing to me. My guess is that he does. His attention returns to my mother, who still doesn't look moved by any of this. I don't know how anyone couldn't be moved by those eyes, those lips, that voice...I guess that's just me though.

'I know that given the chance, I can make Kyle the happiest person on the face of the earth,' Cartman continues. 'He's chosen to give me that chance, but that choice shouldn't cost him his family. He needs his mother in his life. Please accept your son's choice to be happy.'

My dad looks impressed – I wonder how long he's been smiling for. My mom, on the other hand, isn't impressed or smiling. She studies Cartman's handsome, sincere face for a moment longer, and then snaps her attention back to me.

'Kyle, I will always love you,' she states robotically, her emotionless voice not matching up with the words she's saying. 'And maybe one day, I'll come to accept the choices you've made. But if you choose to continue this...relationship with Eric, you're no longer welcome in this house.'

I think I look the least surprised of anyone in this room. I had a feeling it would come down to an ultimatum. My dad looks appalled, unable to find his words, his mouth moving silently as if he were a gasping fish out of water. 'Sheila, you can't just-'

Mom interrupts him. 'I wouldn't be asking you to make this decision if I didn't feel so strongly about this, Kyle.'

In many ways this is such a hard choice, yet such an easy one at the same time. I take one look at Cartman's slightly panicked expression and I know what my answer is. I look back to my mom and shrug.

'In that case, I'd better be going.'

I make a move to stand, but my mom moves first. I don't even get to see the look on her face as she strides across the room and stomps up the stairs without pausing for a second to look back. Everyone is silent and motionless until we hear my parents' bedroom door slams shut. I don't know how to feel about what just happened here. But I guess technically, I'm homeless. Cartman is gazing at me, looking both concerned and strangely delighted at the same time. My dad still looks pretty upset, and is about to say something but Liane beats him to it.

'Kyle is welcome to continue living with me as long as necessary, Gerald.'

Dad smiles at her. 'Thanks, Liane. I think it's probably for the best, at least for now. If there's anything you need for him, financially or otherwise, just let me know.'

'Does that include his college fees?' Cartman cuts in.

I cringe slightly as Dad frowns at what probably seems like a really random question. 'Of course, don't worry about that. I'd never allow anything or anyone to deny my son his future.'

Cartman noticeably relaxes. He doesn't look concerned anymore now that he's been relieved of the pressure of potentially fucking up my life. My dad gestures towards the stairs.

'I guess you'd better...go gather together some of your things,' he says softly. 'Ike and I will pack up the rest of your stuff for you over the weekend.'

I nod, rising from my seat. Cartman moves with me.

'I'll help,' he murmurs.

He follows me up the stairs as Dad and Liane continue to discuss my new living arrangements. When we reach the top of the stairs, we both absently glance over at my parents' closed bedroom door before silently entering what I guess is no longer my bedroom. I'm a reasonably tidy person so it doesn't take me long to find everything I need. I throw my stuff into a pile on my bed as Cartman starts stuffing it into a sports bag. When I'm finished hurling objects from my closet, I sit on the bed next to Cartman and help him gather together the rest of my stuff. We reach for the same t-shirt at the same time and glance up at each other when our hands touch. I'm almost positive that we both blush.

'So...I guess I'm living with you now?' I say quietly.

Cartman nods. 'Yep.'

'You okay with that?'

He frowns. 'Why wouldn't I be?'

I shrug. 'It's just kind of a big step. It's not too soon for you?'

'Well, I don't have a lot of choice, Jew. I'm not dating a homeless person.'

I roll my eyes at his lame attempt at humour. 'I'm being serious, dude.'

Cartman melodramatically imitates my eye rolling and pulls me into a rough hug. I automatically nuzzle into his chest and inhale. He's wearing his favourite jacket today, and the smell of leather blends beautifully with his usual scent.

'Look, its fine,' he mutters. 'We've always had a high-gear kind of relationship anyway. That's just how we roll. It's cool.' My arms tighten around him as I feel his lips against my forehead. He pulls back to look at me. 'Besides, I can't think of anything better than having you around me, twenty-four seven.'

I feel my face flush again at his words. 'Really?'

He grins. 'Hell yeah! Now I get to tap that sweet kosher ass whenever I feel like it.'

I smile wryly. 'Pig.'

His amused laughter is muffled when my lips briefly press to his. As we turn to continue packing up my things, I notice a large shadow lingering in the doorway out of the corner of my eye. A few seconds later, it disappears and I hear my parents' bedroom door quietly closing.

Two bulging sports bags later, I'm ready to go. When we walk back downstairs, my dad and Liane are hugging by the front door. I glance at Cartman, who has one eyebrow arched and looks a little uncomfortable with seeing my dad touching his mom. Actually, it probably has very little to do with the fact that it's my dad – it's probably just men in general touching his mom that he objects to. Dad mumbles what sounds like 'thank you so much' before releasing Liane from his arms. He turns to see me and smiles sadly, pulling me into a tight embrace.

'Kyle, you're my boy and I love you no matter what you do or who you're with. If Eric makes you happy, then so be it. I'm just so sorry that it has come to this - your mother is being completely unreasonable, as usual.'

It's not obvious to Cartman or Liane, but I know my dad's tone of voice well enough to be able to read in between the lines. He's absolutely furious with my mom. I have the feeling there's going to be one hell of an argument when I'm gone. To be honest, I'm glad. It's nothing that my mom doesn't deserve and it'll make my dad feel better. It's not like the argument will upset Ike either – he'll probably just secretly video-tape it and forward it to 'America's Stupidest Home Videos' like he usually does.

'Don't be too upset, Dad,' I say gently. 'It's not like I'm far away. And like you said before - it's for the best this way.'

I feel my dad nodding and he slowly backs away from me. He then turns his attention to Cartman, pulling him into a hug before the poor guy even has the chance to realise my dad's intentions. He lets out a squeak of surprise, dropping the sports bag he offered to carry for me. It's so fucking hard not to laugh at how freaked out and awkward he looks.

'Please look after my son,' Dad says.

Jesus Christ, I'm only moving around the block! You'd think Cartman and I were eloping to New Zealand or something.

'Err...sure, Mr Broflovski,' Cartman replies.

'And try to forget about what Sheila said before. Because sometimes it's okay for things to be rough around the edges, just as long as what's on the inside is good enough. And I truly believe that there must be something very special inside you to have made my son love you so much.'

I guess that's one good thing about coming from a family of lawyers. Sometimes, my dad knows exactly the right thing to say. The tension seems to slowly leave Cartman's body, and he hesitantly returns the impromptu hug.

'Thank you,' he whispers.

When Dad finally releases him, I notice that Cartman looks...touched? And a little tearful. I guess that's the closest he's ever come to having a father-son moment. Hopefully, there'll be more moments like this for him seeing as my dad has been so accepting of us. If Cartman's willing to share his home with me, I certainly don't mind sharing my dad with him.

Not another a word is uttered as Cartman, Liane and I leave the house – what more is there to say? As my dad closes the door behind us, I glance back at what used to be my home and notice the curtains twitching in my parents' bedroom window. I smile, because at the back of my mind I still see a glimmer of hope. The way I see it - in just one conversation, my mom's potential acceptance of my relationship with Cartman changed from a never to a maybe.

Who knows? If we keep working at it, there may be a chance for a happy medium to be reached after all.

* * * * *

When we got home, I moved my stuff into the spare bedroom. I know I'll probably always end up sleeping in Cartman's room, but we agreed that it's better that I have my own space too - somewhere to store all my shit, and somewhere to retreat to when Cartman's pissing me off, which is bound to happen from time to time. I was nearly finished unpacking when Stan stopped by to find out the outcome of our meeting. He looked horrified when I told him that I'm now living with Cartman permanently, having officially been thrown out of my family home. I don't think I've ever seen him pinch the bridge of his nose so tightly!

'Jesus Christ, dude! Aw, man! It's my fault, isn't it? I knew I shouldn't have interfered again! Wendy told me not to make that call! I should have listened to her!'

'Dude, chill! You sound like Tweek!' I laugh, clutching Stan's shoulders. 'It's fine, really. I'm glad you did it. Cartman and I are both cool with the idea.'

Stan chews his bottom lip anxiously. He doesn't look convinced. 'You sure?'

I nod confidently. 'Totally.'

He studies my face for a second before cracking a smile. 'Well...I guess as long as you're happy, it's cool. If you need any more help from me, you know where I am.'

I'm about to thank him, but he hugs me without warning. What's with all this fucking hugging anyway? I appreciate the sentiment, but I feel like I've been stuck in an episode of 'Friends' today.

'And remember,' Stan says. 'If you ever get sick of fatass, you're welcome to stay with me instead.'

'Hey!' Cartman yells from the kitchen. 'I heard that, you fucking hippy!'

We both laugh and separate as Stan bids a hasty retreat. 'See you tomorrow, Kyle.'

I wave him off as he finds his own way out, and then I run back up the stairs to add the finishing touches to my new room. Once I'm done, I clamber onto the bed and lay back. This day has been so emotionally draining, but I really do believe that the outcome has been for the best. Living with Cartman is going to be a learning experience if anything – I have a feeling that there's so much more for me to discover about him, good and bad. Either way, I can't wait. This whole situation will definitely be a test for our relationship. I mean that positively – I truly believe that we're ready to rise to the challenge.

I shuffle around on the mattress a little. I don't think I like this bed as much as Cartman's – probably because his ample form hasn't crushed this mattress into being all soft and pliable like his. Just as I start getting comfortable, there's a knock on the door and Cartman enters, smirking.

'Hey, Jew.'

I grin back. 'Hey, fatass.'

He slides onto the bed and lies back next to me. We both stare at the ceiling in silence for a few moments. I wonder if he's as exhausted as I am after the day we've had. Cartman sighs and glances over to the closet door where I've pinned up my Albert Einstein poster. He sniggers. 'Dude, you've still got that shitty poster from when you were a kid?'

I raise an eyebrow. 'This coming from the guy who still has a Terrance & Philip Show poster over his bed?'

Cartman snorts. 'Well, duh! Terrance and Philip were legends, bringing joy and laughter into the hearts of many. What's this Een-steen guy ever done for mankind?'

I roll my eyes. 'Plenty. And it's **Einstein**, retard.'

The ignorant goof merely shrugs. 'Whatever. Jews have stupid names.'

'You're a fucking idiot, you know that?'

'At least I'm not ginger.'

'I thought you liked my hair.'

'I do. You're still fucking ginger, though.'

I yawn. 'Whatever, dumbass. I'm too tired to argue with you.'

'That's fine. We can argue whenever you feel like it now,' I can practically hear the smile in his voice as he says this. 'I'm so fucking stoked you picked me over your mom.'

When he puts it like that, I guess I kinda did...Ah well. 'It was her own damn fault for putting me in that position.'

'Hey, don't knock it. It's like, the coolest thing she's ever done.'

I nod tiredly. 'It's the **only** cool thing she's ever done.'

'It's kinda fucked up though,' Cartman remarks thoughtfully. 'If she doesn't want us to be together, why would she put you in a position where you have no choice but to live with me?'

I shrug. 'She probably thinks that we're too young to handle living together and that I'll come crying home to her eventually.'

Cartman snorts dismissively, a sound that I'm delighted to hear. I suppose he thinks we're up to the challenge too. But just to clarify...

'Don't you?' I ask.

He glances over at me. 'Don't I what?'

I meet his eyes. 'Don't you think we're too young to be living together?'

Cartman looks thoughtful for a second, then chuckles and rolls over to straddle my hips. His hands pin my shoulders to the bed as he brings his face close to mine, eyes sparkling playfully.

'I think we're too young to have done a lot of things that we've done together,' he purrs, kissing my neck lightly. 'I also think that your lovely mother underestimates us, my dear Kyle.'

'I agree,' I chuckle, shuddering as his tongue traces my jugular. 'On both points.'

Cartman growls in the back of his throat as his teeth gently graze the skin of my shoulder blade. My hands slide up his arms and caress his shoulders, and I turn my face to kiss his cheek. He responds by biting down on my neck, hard. I gasp sharply, letting out a low hiss as the air rushes through my gritted teeth. He suckles at my raw skin vehemently, and my hips naturally buck upwards to meet his. He grinds against me in response, and I can feel that our levels of arousal are equal. He releases my skin from in between his teeth and easily manipulates my lips into parting for him with his tongue. He's met with my usual level of hospitality as my warm lips caress his tongue and my fingers knit themselves into his hair, spurring him on to kiss me harder.

Then abruptly, Cartman breaks away from me and stands up. What the hell? He smirks down at my frustrated expression, straightening out his clothes before offering his hand to me.

'Come on. Dinner's nearly ready and now that you're living under my roof, I fully intended on feeding your scrawny ass up.'

I roll my eyes as he pulls me to my feet and drags me towards the bedroom door. I cringe in discomfort, finding it hard to walk due to the sudden tightness of my jeans. Goddamn him! How can he think that I'd be interested in food when he's just turned me on like this? I don't want to eat or drink, or even sleep despite how tired I am. All I want right now is him.

But isn't that just the sentiment that got us to where we are today? All I ever want is him. He has me totally addicted.

I'm entirely bound by his chains, and I never want him to release me.

* * * * *

_I know having them living together as an outcome is a bit cliché. So sue me. Besides, it's not like the story is gonna end here. I've got like another twelve chapters in mind. There's plenty of time for things to become interesting again. And when I say 'plenty of time', I mean it. Considering how slowly I'm updating lately, this story should theoretically be finished by...hmm...Christmas 2009, LOL! Not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing!_

_The end of this chapter feels a little rushed to me, which is a pain in the ass because it wasn't – in fact, it took me fucking ages to write it. But meh...what can you do? Out of all 18 chapters, this is the one I've least enjoyed writing, probably due to the lack of Kyle/Cartman interaction. But now that all the confrontational bullshit is out of the way, the next chapter will be a lot more light-hearted and humour-based, with lots more of our boys interacting with each other and their friends. I'm itching to write it, because I feel I had to hold Cartman back a little in this chapter, since it was so Broflovski-centric. I can't wait to get everyone's favourite fatass back into the spotlight!_

_Thanks for reading! See you next time!_

_DD_

_xx_


	19. Scrutiny

_Author Notes: Apologies! It has taken me so freakin' long to update this time. As always, thanks for the reads/reviews/PMs, etc. As always, I appreciate it! Here's chapter 19. It's more of a filler fun-type chapter. Enjoy! xx_

**Chapter 19 – Scrutiny**

After having the best night's sleep I've had in a long time, I wake up in Cartman's arms, in his bed, in my new home. We've slept late, having decided last night to take the day off from school. It's Friday, and since we've had such a trying past couple of days, I think we deserve a long weekend to help remedy the stress we've been under. It'll also give us a chance to better acquaint ourselves with the concept of living together. It boggles the mind that we've reached this point so soon. It feels like we're so...grown up, I guess. I mean, I don't know of any other couples our age that live together – I'm pretty sure that South Park High's golden couple Stan and Wendy haven't even discussed such a thing. I know Cartman and I have known each other for years, but we've only been together a few months. Surely, taking a step like this should feel just the slightest bit scary. But somehow, it doesn't. It just feels...right.

We eventually get out of bed around nine. I offer to make breakfast but end up burning the fuck out of the toast. Cartman practically rolls about on the floor laughing at me, which really pisses me off. I'm well aware of my lack of finesse in the kitchen, but that fatass doesn't need to be highlighting my ineptitude like that! In all fairness, I think I'm probably more annoyed with myself than him. It's pretty lame that I can't even handle a toaster at my age. His laughter gradually subsides as I pour Lucky Charms and milk into two bowls – at least I can't screw up cereal. As we eat, Cartman makes a smartass remark about how I've used entirely too much milk, and I barely resist the urge to dump the contents of his bowl over his stupid fat head. His eyes meet mine across the breakfast table and he winks to let me know he's kidding. I roll my eyes in response. He has an undeniable talent for raising my blood pressure with the minimum of effort. And somehow, I love him for it.

After breakfast, we head back upstairs to get ready. As I sit on Cartman's bed combing my hair, I catch myself openly staring at him a number of times, mostly because he's just stepped out of the shower. Despite the fact that he's an annoying fatass (or perhaps because of it), he looks so fucking sexy when he's wet - cheeks flushed from the heat of the shower, hair damp and tussled, skin glistening with droplets of water. But my staring is also partly to do with his words to my mom yesterday, still echoing in my head.

'_...I feel so lucky that he's made that choice...I love your son. I'd give my life for him...I know that given the chance, I can make Kyle the happiest person on the face of the earth...'_

As wonderful as his words were, I'm surprised that he spoke so openly about his feelings for me in front of our parents. It makes me blush just thinking about it, but in a good way. I like that he's so fearless about his feelings for me. I guess I really shouldn't be so surprised – he's always been resolutely passionate about everything he's interested in, so why should his interest in me be any different? I subconsciously shake my head at myself. Why the hell am I questioning his reasons for making such a heartfelt declaration of love? Cartman's right. Maybe I do think about things too much...

Oh shit...the comb freezes in my hair as it hits me that I've forgotten to take my insulin. I sit on the edge of the bed and quickly fish my insulin kit out of my backpack. I notice Cartman watching me out of the corner of his eye as he starts to dress. He cringes noticeably as I fill the syringe from my insulin bottle. I raise an eyebrow. 'What?'

He eyes the syringe and shudders. 'That's just...fucked up, dude.'

Oh, yeah. I'd almost forgotten about his fear of injections – I think associative trypanophobia is the medical term. He used to mess about with needles all the time when he was a kid, but became terrified of them when he was ten. He was trying to take blood from himself for some stupid reason and shoved the needle in too far. He stabbed the tip right into the bone of his humerus, which is ironic considering he found the experience anything but funny. It hurt so much that he cried for hours afterwards – it was one of the rare occasions when we were younger that I actually felt sorry for him. He never touched needles again after that and was always a complete wreck in the days leading up to whenever he needed a shot at the doctor.

'Well, I'm diabetic. I can't help it,' I shrug.

He looks anxious. 'Can't you just take a pill or something?'

'No. Just don't look. Or better yet, **do** look. Face your fears.'

'I'm not scared!' he replies defensively. 'It's just...it freaks me out, okay? You have to do that every day?'

I nod. 'Twice.'

'Jesus Christ!'

'It's what happens when you're diabetic, dude.'

I turn my attention back to my syringe and easily slide the thin needle into the flesh of my upper arm. I have to bite down on my lip to stop myself from laughing as the big sissy cries out in disgust and turns his back to me. I quickly inject my insulin and return the used syringe to my kit for disposal later. As the kit clicks shut, Cartman hesitantly glances over at me, only turning back around when he's certain that I'm done injecting myself. His brown eyes are as wide as a cow's and tinged with fear. I feel the overwhelming urge to give him a hug. He gestures pointedly at my kit, pouting somewhat.

'You see! Its stuff like this that makes always wearing a condom so fucking important!'

'Huh?' It takes me a couple of seconds to work out what the hell he's talking about, and when I do I swear that my head starts to ache in disbelief. He can't possibly be that fucking stupid! 'You can't catch diabetes by having unprotected sex, retard!'

He looks at me blankly for a moment. 'Then...how do you catch it?'

Massaging my temples, I sigh deeply. 'You don't 'catch it' - it happens when your pancreas doesn't work properly. You're usually born with it.' I pause for thought. 'Although overweight people can develop it later on in life. Something for you to think about there.'

I expect one of his generic 'Hey, I'm not fat!' retorts in response. Instead he just looks thoughtful for a second then rolls his eyes and snorts.

'Whatever. Just get your human pin-cushion ass into the shower, Jew.'

He picks up a towel from his desk and hurls it at me, then walks out of the room. His request is gladly adhered to, and moments later I'm enjoying the feeling of hot water thundering down on my tired shoulders. I actually feel more physically exhausted than I do mentally, which is strange. Well, I suppose it's not really that strange, considering the lengthy 'private housewarming party' Cartman and I had last night. Still, I would have thought that this whole situation of being disowned by my mother would be bothering me more. I guess that so much has happened this week that I've been pushed beyond the point of feeling overwhelmed by anything anymore.

When I turn off the water, I can clearly hear crashing and banging coming from downstairs. What the hell is Cartman doing down there? Maybe he's being abducted by aliens again – I'll find out soon enough. I'm honestly too relaxed after twenty glorious minutes of showering to give a shit right now. Although I have my own room, I instinctively walk back to Cartman's to get ready. As I'm towelling off my hair, I notice that my comb has gone from where I left it on the bed. I crouch on the floor and feel around under the bed. I find it straight away, although it's caught on something. One hard tug later and I have my comb and a pair of boxers in my hand. My boxers. More specifically, the boxers I was wearing the drunken night that Cartman and I first got together. I smile fondly and feel myself blush as I lay the garment on the bed in front of me - I can't believe he actually kept them.

I'm just finishing getting dressed when Cartman enters the bedroom wearing a dirty white apron over his t-shirt and jeans. He approaches me and I notice that he has a familiar smell lingering around him – kinda like shop class.

'What was all that noise down there?' I ask.

He takes the apron off and drops it into his laundry basket. 'My mom bought a new security chain for the front door yesterday, since your charming mother so kindly broke it. I was just screwing it on.'

My eyebrow cocks at this. 'You do D.I.Y?'

'Hell yeah,' he smirks. 'I love holding a kickass power tool. It makes me feel like such a man.'

When he turns around to pick up the laundry basket, I notice a pink feather duster sticking out of the back pocket of his jeans. I snigger to myself – yeah, really manly!

'You want anything washed?' he asks. 'I'm putting a load in the machine now.'

I giggle at this. 'Heh...'load'.'

Cartman laughs – he enjoys my sporadic moments of silliness. I quickly pick up the few items of my clothing that I have lying around Cartman's room and drop them into the basket. He glances around the room and nods towards the door.

'What about that one?'

I follow his gaze and notice a black and orange t-shirt of mine dangling from the handle. I think I've only worn a couple of times. I grab for it, hold it to my face and inhale – it doesn't smell too bad, so I think I could probably get another day or so out of it.

'Nah, this one's okay.'

I drop the t-shirt on the floor by the door to remind me to put it in my room later. It takes me a moment to realise that Cartman is staring at me, mouth agape.

I frown. 'What?'

'You're a sniffer?!' he exclaims.

I blink, confused. 'I'm a what?'

'A sniffer!' Cartman splutters. 'You fucking sniff your clothes to decide whether they're ready to be washed or not! That's fucking hilarious!'

I roll my eyes as he proceeds to laugh his ass off. I really don't get the joke here. 'Oh, I suppose you wash everything you wear after only wearing it once?'

'Hell, no!' he chuckles. 'I just thought that **you'd** be the kind of guy that would.'

'Whatever,' I frown. 'At least I'm not the kind of guy who stashes people's underwear under my bed.'

I hold up his keepsake from our first night together. Judging by Cartman's reaction, he recognises them instantly. His mouth opens as he tries to form some kind of explanation, but no sound comes out for about half a minute. For every second that passed, his face turns a shade redder. I have to smile - he's kinda cute when he's embarrassed.

'Well...you told me to keep 'em, you slutty Jew!' he finally blurts out.

I laugh despite the insult. He huffily storms across the room and starts tugging the sheets from his bed. I can tell from his body language that he's pretty miffed at being caught. Poor baby. I come up behind him, sliding my arms around his waist and hugging him tightly. He glances over his shoulder at me, looking apprehensive.

'You don't think I'm, you know...like, a perv for keeping them, do you?'

'Nope,' I say, kissing the side of his neck softly. 'I just think you're really...sweet.'

I wink playfully at him, knowing full well that he won't take kindly to my choice of words. He looks away again shyly, mumbling under his breath.

'Don't call me sweet...'

He growls when I burst out laughing again, turning around and throwing the sheets in his hand at me. I'm too busy laughing to react in time to catch them.

'Come on, make yourself useful.'

He picks up the laundry basket and heads out of the bedroom. I sober myself and gather up the sheets from the floor, following him downstairs to the kitchen. On the way, I notice that he's been tidying the house while I've been in the shower, so I feel it's only fair for me to take over loading up the machine while he makes us some coffee. I'm unable to stop myself from pausing to think about what's going on here – we're actually functioning like a real couple that lives together. Like, doing domestic shit together and stuff. I wonder if that thought has crossed his mind. Probably not – since I'm currently bent over in front of the washing machine, he's likely to be too busy staring at my ass to be thinking very much right now.

I turn to glance at him and see that, low and behold, he's staring at me and grinning. I'm now even more interested in what he could be thinking. I know what **I'm** thinking - it would be so hot if he just came over here, tore my jeans down, bent me over the top of the washing machine and took me right now.

I feel my heart pound as he approaches and hands me my coffee, still grinning. He gives me a quick up and down glance before leaning in and pressing a light kiss to my lips. I love it when he kisses me like this – my face gets so warm and my stomach fills with butterflies. When he pulls away, we lock eyes and he gives me that look like he wants to rip off my clothes and thoroughly ravish me. Then he casually turns away and walks into the living room. I feel myself frowning – what a fucking tease! I follow him through and sit on the couch beside him, rolling my eyes at his smug grin. Just as I'm about to put my mug down on the coffee table, Cartman stops me.

'Ah ah!'

'What?' He hands me a round wicker disk. My eyebrow arches. 'A coaster? Are you serious?'

He nods. 'This was my grandma's coffee table. I just polished it. Besides, it's a family heirloom and I don't want it covered in condensation rings.'

Wow. I'm truly shocked at how domesticated Cartman is. He was always such a lazy turd when he was a kid that this zest for housework that he's developed is astounding. He probably gets it from his mom – she's always been keen on keeping their home shipshape. Or maybe it's some sort of intrinsic obsessive compulsive thing... I shake my head at myself – there I go again with the over-thinking! I should be pleased that my boyfriend has a little domestic flair – it's more than what I have. I don't know the first thing about polishing stuff, cookery or power tools. I obligingly set the coaster down on the coffee table and place my mug on top of it.

'I never would have had you pegged as house-proud,' I comment, unable to resist.

Cartman shrugs. 'A clean house is a happy house.'

I have to laugh at that. 'You sound like my mom!'

His eyes grow wide. 'Sick! Don't compare me to that bi-'

I silence him with a firm kiss. I'm still a little worked up over the look he gave me in the kitchen and I'm not letting him get away with it. He's all too eager to kiss me back, hastily setting his own mug down on the coffee table. I'm about to be an asshole and remark on how he hasn't used a coaster, but that thought flies out of my head as his tongue slides into my mouth and his hand disappears under my t-shirt. I pull back from him, gasping sharply as he pinches my nipples. Our eyes meet and we simultaneously break into matching grins.

'So,' he sighs. 'Remind me what it is you love about me?'

'Hmm?' I ask as I lean in and start kissing his neck.

'You said yesterday that my reputation isn't what you love about me. So, what is?'

I pull back to look at him again. He's choosing **now** to stop and have a deep meaningful conversation? He's totally doing this to tease me even more. I absently nuzzle my face into the palm of his hand as he strokes my cheek. He tilts his head slightly to the side as he watches me – obviously he wants an answer. So that's what I'll give him.

'I love how safe I feel in your arms and how warm I feel when I look in your eyes,' I say, smiling gently. 'I love how passionate and kind you can be, and how some of the dumb things that you do make me laugh. But above all else, I love how alive you make me feel, with just one simple word or touch.'

Cartman remains motionless as he takes in what I've just said. Suddenly, he sniggers. 'You fag, Kyle!'

'Asshole!' I frown at him. 'You're a bigger fag for asking, fatass!'

He laughs harder at my annoyed expression, cupping my clenched fists in his large hands. 'Is this what you meant about making you feel alive?'

I look down at our joined hands and feel my face grow hot. He's such an annoying son of a bitch. Especially when he's right.

'Whatever. What do **you** love about **me** anyway?'

Might as well return the question. He cocks an eyebrow at me and grins. 'Easy. Your ass.'

I roll my eyes. 'Come on. Tell me what you love so much that you'd give your life for me.'

His grin fades slightly at that little reminder of his amorous ranting yesterday. He looks thoughtful for a moment, then grins wider than before.

'I love the spectrum of emotions you put me through,' he says breathily. 'Whether you're driving me wild with your unadulterated slutty-ness or taming me with your tedious bitching. I love how your smart-ass know-it-all meddlesome nature has lured me into trusting you so completely. But above all else...I love that you give fucking amazing head.'

That's pretty much what I expected, but it just wouldn't be characteristic of me if I didn't get pissed off at his asinine reasoning. I frown and sigh angrily, looking away from him and folding my arms tightly across my chest. He sniggers as he cups my chin in his hand and turns my face back to look at his. His eyes twinkle teasingly.

'I also love how breathtakingly beautiful you look when you're angry.'

My annoyance falters at that. Before I can say 'I forgive you', his lips are on mine. I don't even hesitate in kissing back. Goddamn Cartman and his fucking charisma! I unfold my arms and wrap them around his neck, pulling our faces closer together. Seconds later, I'm pinned flat on my back on the couch listening to Cartman's feverish groans as our hips grind together. I break the kiss when I feel his hand on my zipper.

'Careful, dude. You don't wanna get our bodily fluids all over your precious coffee table,' I say with a sarcastic grin.

'Fuck the coffee table,' he murmurs.

'I'd rather fuck you...'

Our lips meet again as slides his hand inside my jeans, gently squeezing my hardening member through the material of my underwear. I tug at the hem of his t-shirt, slowly sliding it up over his torso as his hand slips beneath my boxers.

Both of us freeze when the doorbell rings. After a moment of silence, we exchange glances and shrug, silently agreeing to ignore it before returning to our make out session. Another ring and Cartman sighs irritably into my mouth. I trail my fingers along the waistband of his jeans, encouraging him to once again pay no mind to whoever is at the door. This works until whoever it is begins knocking insistently, prompting Cartman to pounce off the couch and stomp towards the door.

'Goddamn it! Who the fuck is that?'

I hastily sit and pull up my zipper, smoothing my hair out with my hands as Cartman flings the front door open. I can see Kenny standing in the doorway. He eyes Cartman's dishevelled hair with a shit-eating grin on his face.

'Oh, I'm sorry. Are we interrupting something?'

'What the hell do you assholes want?' Cartman snaps.

'We thought that we'd take our own personal ditch day and throw Kyle an impromptu housewarming party.'

'Well, you thought wrong. Fuck off.'

With that, Cartman slams the door shut and walks back over to the couch. Just as I get to my feet to reprimand him, the front door opens and Kenny enters the house, flanked by Stan and Butters. Kenny marches up to Cartman, arms folded across his chest.

'Quit hogging Kyle, fat boy!'

Cartman flips him off. 'Up yours, Kenny!'

'Hey guys,' I say cheerfully in contrast to my lover's hostility.

'Hey dude,' Stan replies. He looks a little uncomfortable, which comes as no surprise. He probably thinks Cartman still wants to kick his ass, and I really don't believe he'd be inaccurate in thinking this. I know I can trust both of them not to start anything though.

'So, were we supposed to get you guys a 'congratulations on getting drunk, hooking up, coming out and moving in together' card or something?' Kenny jokes.

'I doubt such a thing exists,' Stan says with a weak laugh.

'Yeah, and even if it did I doubt you could afford it, poor boy!'

I roll my eyes. 'Cartman, be nice.'

He rolls his eyes right back at me. 'Fuck no, this is **my** house!'

'Yeah well, I live here now too.'

'Only 'cause I let you.'

'I'll go live with Stan then.'

'Why the hell would you wanna do that? Him and the she-hippy would make you paint your face and join their fucking drum circle.'

'At least Stan's courteous to his guests.'

'**My** guests?' Cartman snorts. 'Yeah, right! Like these asshole are really here to see **me**!'

Butters raises his hand and smiles sweetly. '**I'm** here to see you, Eric.'

'Shut up, Butters.'

'Chill out, lardbutt,' Kenny cuts in. 'I anticipated this sort of reaction, so I brought you a peace offering. Here.'

He hands Cartman what appears to be a big bag of Doritos. Cartman takes them, examines the bag for a second then tosses it back to Kenny. 'Keep 'em. That's like a week's worth of food to your family.'

Kenny stares at the bag blankly, then looks from me to Stan to Butters, and back to Cartman again. 'You're...turning down food? What's up with that?'

Cartman frowns angrily. 'What's that supposed to mean, asshole? I'm trying to cut back, okay? I'm not getting diabetes and sticking myself with needles every day.'

At the mention of diabetes, Kenny's attention snaps back to me. 'Woah...you work fast, dude! You've got his fat ass whipped already?'

It's my turn to frown now. 'I don't have him 'whipped'. I merely pointed out that overweight people are susceptible to getting diabetes. It's a scientific fact.'

'Yeah, but since when does Cartman listen to you?' Stan points out.

'Since Kyle let him into his pants, I'd imagine.' Kenny remarks.

'Now now, fellas,' Butters chips in. 'There ain't nothing wrong with a little self-improvement. Right, Eric?'

'Who said anything about improving? Kyle thinks I'm perfect just the way I am, right?'

Arrogant, much? Before I can reply, Cartman roughly pulls me to him and presses a light kiss to my forehead. I swear my face becomes so hot that the wallpaper starts to peel off. Kenny sniggers and I'm pretty sure I hear Butters say 'aww'.

'Urgh...' Everyone glances at Stan, who suddenly looks a little pale. He forces a smile, but still looks queasy. Understandable – he only found out about me and Cartman like a couple of days ago. It's gonna take time for him to get used to the idea his best friend being touched up by his former worst enemy. Cartman smirks at Stan's reaction and looks ready to make a smart-ass comment, but Kenny beats him to it.

'What's the matter, Stan? Gonna puke your guts up again?'

Stan frowns defensively. 'No!'

'Get the fuck out of my house if you're gonna barf, Marsh,' Cartman growls.

'I'm fine!' Stan flings himself onto the couch, blushing furiously. Kenny and Butters make themselves comfortable on the small two seater couch as Cartman sits by Stan. I'm about to sit in between them until Cartman pulls me into his lap. He wraps his arms around my waist and snuggles into me, chuckling at the expression of discomfort on Stan's face. I shoot Stan a sympathetic look. Cartman can be such an antagonising jackass. That said, I guess Stan **does **deserve a little punishment for his actions earlier this week.

'So how's married life working out so far, guys?' Kenny asks.

'Oh, it's awesome!' Cartman replies, deliberately toying with my hair. 'He's housebroken, doesn't make a lot of mess, doesn't eat much...if I'd known how easy it was, I would have got a pet Jew-rat years ago.'

I knock his hands away from me. 'Don't call me that, asshole!'

'I'll call you what I want. You're **my** pet, after all.' I'm about to scream something in response, but he's too quick for me. 'Anyway, I suppose I'd better be a 'courteous host' and get you dickheads something to drink.'

'I'll help ya, Eric!' Butters pipes up.

'Urgh...fine.' Cartman gestures for me to move, and I stand so that he can get up. He looks around at our friends and jerks a thumb at me. 'Hey, can someone keep an eye on my Jew-hamster for me?'

That does it! 'Goddamn it, I'm not your pet! I'm not a rat and I'm certainly not a fucking hamster!'

I know he deliberately trying to wind me up, but as always I'm rising to it. It just wouldn't feel right if I didn't. He regards my clenched fists and knotted eyebrows coolly.

'You know what, Kyle? You're right. Of course you're not,' he smirks. 'You're way too cute to be a hamster. Though you do have the same adorable little cheeks...'

I let out an embarrassingly high-pitched squeak as Cartman gives my ass a firm pinch. Of course, everybody immediately looks over at Stan, who makes a big show of pretending not to have noticed my boyfriend's wandering hands. Looking mildly disappointed with Stan's unexciting reaction, Cartman hesitantly turns in the direction of the kitchen. As he passes Stan he pauses, raising an eyebrow as he studies the couch closely.

'Hmm...Stan?'

Stan sighs deeply, refusing to make eye contact. 'What?'

'Aren't you sitting in the spot where Kyle and I were when you walked in on us making out the other day?'

Stan's eyes suddenly double in size and he throws himself off of the couch like it's on fire. Both Cartman and Kenny are almost screaming with laughter. I have to admit, that was pretty funny to watch. Even Butters, who rarely laughs at the misfortunes of others, indulged himself in a smile. Stan sheepishly sits down on the two seater next to Kenny when Butters trots into the kitchen after Cartman.

'So you're really okay here, Kyle?' Kenny asks.

I shrug. 'Yeah, fine so far.'

Stan looks thoughtful for a moment. 'So, is he actually, like...nice to you, ever?'

I can't help but feel a little offended by that question. It's almost like Stan's implying that Cartman's a malevolent jerk and I'm an idiot for being with him. I'm sure he didn't mean it that way though. He's just looking out for me, as usual.

'Of course he is, dude. He was being nice to me right before you guys got here.'

Kenny sniggers. 'I'll bet he was! On the couch, right?'

'Urgh...' Stan suddenly looks ill again.

I roll my eyes. 'Seriously, you guys. He's good to me.'

'It's cool, dude. We believe you,' Kenny says with a wink.

Suddenly, Stan breaks into a grin. 'Oh, Wendy wants to know if you and Cartman wanna do something with us sometime.'

Kenny smirks. 'Ooh, really? Can I join in?'

Stan scowls at him. 'I think she meant like a double-date.'

Ah...This question totally blindsides me. A double date with Stan and Wendy?

'Fuck no!'

My thoughts exactly. Cartman re-enters the room with two cans of soda and hands them to Stan and Kenny. Butters returns with his own can and sits down on the couch next to me. Cartman picks up his coffee mug as he sits in between Butters and me.

'It's nothing personal, Stan...' he takes a sip from his coffee. 'Actually, that's a lie. It's totally personal. Wendy annoys the living piss out of me.' Kenny chuckles at this. 'Seriously, no thanks. Dates are for fags.'

'What, you guys have never been on a date?' Kenny asks. Cartman and I look at each other and shrug, much to Kenny's surprise. 'Really? Never?'

'Aw, that's kinda sad,' Butters says softly.

'Well...the opportunity just never came up.' I say. 'We were sneaking around, remember? We usually didn't get beyond Cartman's front door.'

Stan raises an eyebrow. 'Dude, did you just call him 'Cartman'?'

I look at him blankly. 'What else would I call him?'

He shrugs. 'I just thought that you would be calling him by his first name since you guys are...up close and personal now.'

'Oh, Kyle calls me all kinds of things when we're up close and personal,' Cartman says, smirking. 'Wanna hear a few of them?'

Kenny grins. 'Yeah!'

'No!' Stan growls.

I'd better cut in before Cartman can say anything embarrassing. 'I just don't call him 'Eric', guys. I never have.'

'Well Kyle, you can't very well keep callin' your lover by his surname,' Butters remarks. 'It just ain't proper. How 'bout his middle name?'

'What, 'Theodore'?' Kenny snorts. 'That's worse than Eric!'

Stan nods in agreement. 'Yeah, that's a fucking dork's name.'

Cartman growls at that. 'That was my great grandfather's name!'

Kenny waves his hand dismissively. 'Whatever, dude. It's still dorky as fuck. Let's just pick a new name for him.'

'How 'bout Jack?' Butters suggests.

Stan shakes his head. 'He's not cool enough to pull off Jack.'

'Jack**ass**, maybe,' Kenny sniggers.

'What about Charlie?' Butters says. 'He could pull off Charlie.'

'No, dude!' Stan crinkles his nose. 'That douchebag from that crappy show on CBS is called Charlie.'

'Hey!' Cartman snaps. 'Stop trying to rename me, assholes!'

I'd better put a stop to this. 'Guys, **Cartman** and I have talked about this before. Maybe I'll get used to the idea of calling him Eric someday, but for now we're comfortable with the way things are.'

Kenny rolls his eyes. 'Freaks.'

Cartman sighs irritably. 'Look, Kyle can call me whatever he wants. We have an unconventional relationship. Deal with it or get the fuck out of my house, shitheads.'

'Yeah, no kidding it's unconventional!' Kenny laughs. 'Craig and I were discussing this just the other day.'

'Discussing what, exactly?' I ask.

'Just like, how you guys work together as a couple. We pretty much totally get it, but what we just couldn't agree on was which one of you is the bitch in your relationship.'

I raise an eyebrow. 'The bitch?'

Kenny nods, sipping at his soda. 'Yeah. Craig's theory was that it's gotta be Cartman, since he **acts** more like a bitch in general. But I disagreed on the basis that I just can't imagine good ol' Eric letting you fuck him in the ass without a fight. You'd be far more likely to willingly bend over and open up the back door, in my opinion.'

I feel my cheeks flush with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. Kenny has always been the king of inappropriate personal questions, but this is the first time he's ever made me feel really uncomfortable. Either Cartman knows what I'm thinking or feels the same way himself as he glares ferociously at Kenny.

'Two things, poor boy. Firstly, I don't act like a bitch. And second, what goes into Kyle's ass is our business, not yours and that asshole Craig's.'

Kenny is silent for a moment. 'I see...so it **is** Kyle, then?'

'Neither of us is a bitch! Now shut the fuck up or get the hell out of my house!'

Cartman accentuates this point by grabbing Butters' half empty soda can and hurling it at Kenny's head. His missile hits its mark, causing Kenny to rattle off an extensive list of expletives in response. Cartman casually flips him off and in the blink of an eye they're both rolling around on the living room floor kicking and punching at each other. Stan and I are happy to let them battle it out, but Butters apparently isn't used to such behaviour and tries to separate them. Big mistake. The fight ends with Kenny holding Butters down while Cartman hovers above him and farts in his face. It's like a scene from some kind of gay sick fetish rape porno. I watch as Cartman laughs maniacally at Butters' pleas for mercy. Stan also observes this as leans over to me.

'Remind me what it is that you see in him, dude?'

I respond with a cheery grin. He's kidding.

I think...

* * * * *

The guys hung around until just after four. Everyone loosened up after a while and we all had a lot of fun just talking, goofing around and ripping on each other like old times. It would have been the perfect day had Kenny's words from earlier not kept coming back to haunt me. Am I really 'the bitch' in this relationship? I've never thought of myself as the bitch. Not that I've thought of Cartman as the bitch either, but I guess I am the more subservient of us. Sexually, anyway. But that's just what I happen to like – I love nothing more than for Cartman to pin me down and take complete control of my body, I always have. That doesn't make me a bitch though...right?

I growl at myself softly. Stupid Kenny, making me over-think again! I focus my attention on tidying up the living room, trying to banish that ass-munch and his musings from my head. I rearrange the couch cushions as Cartman finishes dumping all of our empty soda cans into the trash. Once the room looks presentable, we settle back down onto the couch side by side. I barely have the chance to get comfortable before Cartman pulls me into a deep kiss. Oh, good – he wants to continue from where we left off earlier. The perfect distraction from the resonating words of that parka-wearing dumbass.

Cartman shifts his attention to my ear, kissing and chewing at my earlobe as his fingers dive beneath my t-shirt and stroke my skin. I sigh lightly, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling his warm body against mine. Suddenly, he lets out a short laugh.

'Hey, know what Butters said to me in the kitchen earlier?' he says in between kisses. 'He wants to nail his ho for the first time and asked for my advice on how to make it 'the most magical experience of her life'.'

I smirk. That sounds like Butters alright. 'What did you tell him?'

'What **could** I tell him?' Cartman shrugs. 'What the fuck do I know about screwing chicks? I just told him to use protection and referred him to Kenny for further details.'

Urgh! That name! To hell with Kenny McCormick! I need to not think about him. Think about Cartman, kissing trails across my neck and gently coaxing me onto my back on the couch...

'_I see...so it __**is**__ Kyle, then?'_

Who does Kenny think he is, calling me a bitch? I mean, exactly what right does he have to say that? What possible grounds does he have to substantiate his claim, other than the fact that I like it in the ass? It's not like I'm some girly-boy or some whiney little emo pussy. If anything, Stan's more of a bitch than I am! I suppose I do have a tendency to nag Cartman sometimes...but that still doesn't make me a bitch!

It takes me a moment to notice that my neck is no longer being smothered in kisses, and that Cartman is watching me with a slight look of concern on his face. When he realises that I've clocked him, he forces a neutral expression to his face and clears his throat.

'What's on your mind, Jew?' he asks casually.

I hesitate before answering - I really don't know if I want to talk to Cartman about this. What if **he** thinks that I'm the bitch? I mean, he's probably not even considered the possibility that **he** could be the bitch. What if he makes fun of me, or threatens to kick Kenny's ass for getting to me? Or maybe he'll...oh, for crying out loud! Over-thinking, again! Fuck it – of course I can talk to Cartman. He's my boyfriend, for fuck's sake!

'Does the fact that I always let you top make me a bitch?' I ask bluntly.

'Of course it doesn't make you **a **bitch...' he smirks. 'It makes you **my **bitch.'

'Cartman, I'm serious!'

He looks surprised by my tone, allowing me to sit up again. I almost feel guilty over how concerned he looks. It's not his fault that I've let Kenny get to me. Regardless, he seems to choose his next words carefully.

'I...thought you liked being on the bottom.'

'I **do**. It's just...'

What was my point again? I sigh deeply, shrugging my shoulders. Maybe I'm just being a dumbass. Cartman was right – what happens with us behind closed doors is none of Kenny's business. But I still feel like I need reassuring. Cartman seems to read my mind, sliding an arm around my shoulders.

'Look, that fuckwad Kenny doesn't know shit about anything. Always being the bottom doesn't make you the bitch. It just means that you like receiving it in the ass over giving it in the ass. Right?'

I smile brightly, instantly feeling so much better. That's exactly what I needed to hear.

'And there's nothing wrong with that,' he continues. 'You can't help it. I mean, it's just Jewish nature to enjoy receiving over giving.'

'Fucking asshole!'

He cackles wildly as I pounce on him and make a half-hearted attempt at beating the shit out of him. He just had to go and ruin the moment, didn't he? I suppose that I can find it in my heart to forgive him. Ironically, I manage to pin him down to the couch on his back and press a hard kiss to his lips.

'For your information,' I murmur, grinding my hips into his. 'I got a great deal of enjoyment out of 'giving' to you that one time.'

'Well,' he groans, smirking. 'Perhaps if you continue being a good house-pet, I'll let you do it again someday.'

Satisfied, I sigh and rest my face against Cartman's chest. He's right – so what if I like taking it up the ass? It doesn't make me any less of a man in comparison to him. Kenny can think whatever he wants. What the fuck does he know about gay relationships anyway? He's like the straightest guy I know. Cartman clears his throat.

'Now, since I'm cooking in adherence to your weird diabetic Jew needs from now on, you gonna help me with dinner?'

I look up at him. 'You got good home insurance?'

He looks confused. 'Err...no idea. Why?'

I grin wryly. 'You're gonna need it, letting me loose in your kitchen again.'

He sniggers as we reluctantly get up from the couch. 'I won't let you loose. You'll be under my watchful eye at all times.' He gives me a flirtatious wink. 'So fear not, Jew-boy. You seem to be forgetting what great cookery lessons I give.'

Delicious memories flash through my mind – how could I forget about **that**? Once we're in the kitchen, Cartman goes straight to a small wicker basket on the counter beside the sink.

'Let's try something simple...'

Without warning, he tosses an egg to me. I almost fall over myself trying to catch it, and luckily I succeed without cracking it. He smirks at the evil look I shoot him.

'An omelette. Quick to make and so easy that even you could do it.' Before I can voice a reply in my defence, he crosses the room to the refrigerator. 'We've got plenty of vegetables so we'll fry some up and put them into our omelette.' He opens the door and starts emptying items out onto the countertop, declaring their names as he goes. 'Let's see here...onions, carrots, red peppers and...' He pauses and glances over at me, grinning. 'And Kyle's favourite vegetable in the whole wide world.'

A perverse grin lights up his face as he dumps a zucchini onto the countertop. I blush and can't help but wonder if this particular vegetable is a direct relative of the zucchini I turned into pulp with my ass that time. Cartman retrieves a frying pan and bowl, presumably to cook and whisk the eggs in. He puts the equipment down on the counter in front of him and steps back to observe it. I love how focused and in control he looks when he's in the kitchen. If his photography thing doesn't work out, he should totally be a chef. That would be so hot.

'Okay, here's the plan. I'll sort out whisking the eggs and cutting up the onion,' he announces. 'Think you can handle chopping up the rest of the vegetables?'

I nod. 'Sure.'

How hard can it be? He hands me a sharp knife and I choose an area of the kitchen to work in. I start with the carrots – the pepper is kind of a funny shape and I don't really feel comfortable about chopping up the zucchini while certain thoughts are still racing through my head. I experiment with cutting the head off of my carrot and find that the knife glides through its firm body with absolute ease. I try again a little further down the carrot with the same result. Hey, this is pretty simple! After a few more cuts, I get the feeling that someone's watching me. I turn around to see Cartman hovering over my shoulder, staring doubtfully at my decapitated carrot.

'What the hell are you doing?' he asks bluntly.

I look at him blankly. 'Err, chopping up vegetables?'

He rolls his eyes at my sarcastic tone. 'You're not preparing to feed a family of rabbits here, dumbass. How the hell is **this** piece of carrot supposed to cook in the same time as **this** piece?'

He picks up two chunks of my carrot, one of which is about three times thicker than the other, and waves them under my nose demonstratively.

'Well, sorry!' I say snappily. 'I've never done this before!'

He looks mildly amused by my outburst, but hides it with a cluck of his tongue. 'Just try to get them the same size. It's simple logic, Kyle.'

'Whatever. Condescending dickhead.'

Ignoring my insult, he returns to his part of the countertop, continuing to whisk the eggs. I'm aware of him watching me out of the corner of his eye as I slowly chop the rest of my carrot into equally thin slices. I'm vaguely aware of him sniggering, most likely at the time I'm taking. My blood boils in frustration. He's probably one of those people that can chop a carrot perfectly in seconds.

'I can't believe what a retard you are in the kitchen,' he mutters.

'At least I'm not an underpants gnome!'

He lets out a short laugh at how absurd my angry retort sounds. He can laugh all he wants – I'm never letting him live down the fact that he had my dirty boxers under his bed for months. Suddenly, a dull pain starts to throb from the tip of my forefinger. I look down and see blood. Shit! I was so focused on Cartman's laughter that I've managed to mistake my finger for a carrot.

'Ouch! Fuck!'

Cartman sighs impatiently. 'What now?'

'I cut my fucking hand!'

He glances over at my hand, nonchalant. 'It's just a scratch. Get over it.'

'Just a scratch, my ass!' I yell, unabashedly pouting. 'I think there's a chunk of skin missing from my finger!'

'Christ sake...'

As I try my best to stem the bleeding myself, Cartman reaches up on top of the refrigerator and pulls down a first aid kit. He approaches me and stands by my side, hand outstretched.

'Let me see.'

When I hold out my hand, he gently takes hold of my fingers and inspects my injury. He acts quickly, cleaning off the blood with a cotton ball and wrapping a band-aid around my fingertip before it starts pissing blood again. He gives my hand an affectionate stroke before he releases it, closely watching the expression on my face as he closes the first aid kit. I flash him a grateful smile. 'Thanks.'

He smiles back. 'Does it hurt?'

'Yeah.'

His dark eyes stay locked on mine as he takes my hand again, pulling it up to his face and kissing the bandaged area softly. I feel the colour rise in my face and my stomach start to stir. My God, that look he's giving me is absolutely killing me...

'Better?' he says huskily.

I shake my head. 'Not just yet...'

The first aid kit clatters to the floor as I lean in and capture his lips firmly. He rubs my injured finger once more time then slides his hands up my arms to my shoulders. My arms snake around his waist, tugging his hips against mine as our kiss deepens. He leans me back against the counter, the tip of his tongue caressing the roof of my mouth as his fingers tug insistently at the material of my t-shirt. It seems a little gross to do anything more than kiss in a food preparation area, but we've been building up to this moment all day, so fuck it.

My t-shirt lands on the kitchen floor with a dull thump. I can feel Cartman's fingers fumbling with the zipper on my jeans and give him some encouragement in the form of a harder kiss. My teeth graze his bottom lip firmly and the next thing I know, I'm standing in the middle of Cartman's kitchen in my underwear with a raging hard-on. Cartman steps back to admire his handiwork, smiling appreciatively at my half-naked form before pulling me back to him for another forceful kiss. I hear rustling and glance down to see a condom and a packet of lube in Cartman's hand. I chuckle, breaking the kiss.

'How come you always have condoms and lube on you anyway?'

Cartman smirks. ''Cause I can never be too sure when you're gonna get the horn.'

'You're looking pretty horny there yourself.' I stroke the bulge in his jeans pointedly.

'You don't know the half of it...'

Cartman gently turns me around and bends me over the counter. I push my palms against the countertop so as to keep my balance as Cartman's tongue trails from the middle of my back to the nape of my neck. He pushes my underwear down to the floor and I shiver from the sudden cold of the draft from the open kitchen window in front of us. I lean back against Cartman's warm fully clothed body as he gently massages the cheeks of my ass in his palms. His soft lips nip at my neck as his slick chunky fingers slide inside me, and I gasp throatily.

Once he's happy that I'm prepared, Cartman pulls away and I hear a zipper being tugged open. I sneak a glance over my shoulder at him standing there fully clothed with his erect cock hanging out of the fly of his jeans. For some reason, that sight turns me on so much that I'm almost ready to blow my load here and now. A familiar insistent prodding against my ass reminds me to hang on, and I bend my body forward and push my hips back as Cartman firmly thrusts into me.

I breathe deeply as I rock back against him, urging him to touch the sweet spot inside me that he's so good at teasing. Cartman moans thickly behind me, and I feel him change angle inside me as he squeezes my hips and pounds into me harder. He hits my spot and I yelp in pleasure, biting down on my bottom lip as my blunt fingernail rake at the laminated countertop. I feel my knees weaken and try to gain some focus so that I don't lose my balance and slip over. I feel Cartman's fingers wrap around my cock and throw my head back in ecstasy. In the reflective surface of the kitchen window, I can just make out his bulky outline as he rocks steadily behind me. I really hope that his neighbours aren't home. I'm not too sure an elderly couple would be too impressed with our late afternoon frolicking.

A change of pitch in his voice coupled with the increased pace of his thrusts tells me that Cartman's close to climaxing. I lean my body back against his chest, turning my face so that I can taste his lips one more time. He growls into my mouth as he explodes inside of me. I fall back forward against the counter as I hit my own orgasm, emptying my load into Cartman's waiting hand. I feel his heavy breath on my skin and his lips brushing against the back of my neck again as he gently pulls out of me. I give my body a second to start my blood circulating properly again before standing up straight and arching my back. As the afterglow fades, I suddenly become very aware of the fact that I'm naked in the middle of my boyfriend's kitchen. I turn around to find Cartman holding a handful of my clothes and I accept them from him with a grateful nod. He grins at me, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to my lips before leaving me to dress.

I can hear Cartman washing his hands in the sink as I pull my clothes back on. When he's done, he looks over at me and smiles before casually continuing on with whisking the eggs. I follow suit, dutifully chopping up the rest of the vegetables and passing them over to Cartman when I'm done. I stand back to silently watch as he cooks up the ingredients in a frying pan. It doesn't look too complicated, but that's probably just because he's the one doing it. If it was me, it would be burnt on the bottom and soggy on the top. Regardless, I'd like to think that Cartman has been suitably impressed with my performance in the kitchen today.

He serves up the food and we sit down at the kitchen table. We eat in silence for a little while. It's delicious, absolutely perfect except for the carrots. Cartman was right – the bigger chunks aren't cooked as well as the smaller ones. He's been right about a lot today. The apocalypse must be approaching.

'So, you wanna go on a date then?' Cartman asks out of the blue.

I shake my head, swallowing down a mouthful of carrot. 'Nah, you were right. Between Wendy and you not getting along and Stan barfing every time we so much as look at each other, it'd be really awkward.'

Cartman grins. 'As much as I love hearing you tell me that I'm right, I meant just the two of us.'

My fork clatters down to my plate as I lose my grip on it. Is he serious? I study his face closely – he's not joking. He looks a little awkward about the way I'm staring at him. Before I can formulate an answer, he decides to elaborate.

'I mean, we've never really had a proper 'going out and doing something together' type date before. And now that we don't have to sneak around anymore, I think that we should. It'd be cool. I mean, remember when we were younger and used to hang out with Stan and Kenny? We had so much fun. It would be awesome to have that again. Except just one on one this time, you know?'

Can't argue with logic like that. I guess we never really did get to enjoy each other's company to the fullest extent when we were younger. Whatever the logic, it's brilliant that he actually wants us to go out and do something together as a couple. He can be so sweet sometimes, in his own clumsy chauvinistic kind of way.

'But I thought you said that dates are for fags?' I say teasingly.

'Well, let's see. We live together, we cry in front of each other, we scold each other over our respective eating habits and argue over carrots...' He counts each point off on his fingers before arching an eyebrow at me. 'Face it, Kyle – we're total fags.'

I burst out laughing at this. Like, uncontrollable hysterical laughter - the kind where your lungs hurt and your eyes water. I'm not even sure why I'm laughing so hard, and I half expect Cartman to yell at me for my psychotic reaction. He doesn't - he simply watches me with an amused look on his face, waiting for me to calm down.

'So, how's tomorrow night for you?' he asks eventually.

I grin, pretending to consider this. 'Hmmm...you paying?'

Cartman snorts. 'Typical fucking Jew.'

I pick a chunk of zucchini out of my omelette and hurl it at him. I completely miss, but who cares? I'm a lot more interested in talking about what we're going to be doing on our date. It sounds completely retarded, in a way - I'm about to go on my first official date with the guy I've been sleeping with for months and have just moved in with. Our relationship certainly is unconventional. But I wouldn't have it any other way.

* * * * *

_That was a long assed chapter!_

_The part with Stan, Kenny and Butters almost killed me. I really don't like write reams of dialogue in a story, but my friend pointed out to me the other day that readers probably like a lot of dialogue, since it involves the characters interacting and talking to each other, which is a fair point. The plot hasn't really progressed much this chapter, if at all, but fuck it. I've still got like, eleven more chapters of this thing to get through. To be honest, the ideas that I have for later chapters might even require this story to be extended beyond thirty chapters! In a way, that's a bad thing, as I have ideas for other Kyle/Cartman stories flitting around in my little head, but I'm determined not to start anything new until 'Kyle in Chains' is finished._

_Just thought I'd mention that the whole thing about 'whose the bitch in the relationship?' was my way of expressing how annoying I find it when people say the Kyman pairing wouldn't work on the grounds that 'neither of them would want to be the bitch'. They're right – neither would want to be 'the bitch', but I feel that a relationship doesn't require one of the two people to be the 'bitch' in order for it to work. In this story Kyle is mainly the sexual bottom; however Cartman is mainly the **emotional** bottom. They both display what would probably be largely identified as 'bitch-like' qualities, which in my mind renders them equal. That's just my view though – take it or leave it. :P_

_Anyway, thanks a million for reading and sticking with me this far, everyone. I actually read through the full story the other day to help myself plan for later chapters - only then did I realise how fucking long this story is! You guys sure are troopers!_

_Anyway, be sure to check back next chapter to join Kyle and Cartman on their first date! ;)_

_DD_

_Xx_

_PS: If you're ever curious about when I'm planning to update next, or if you just fancy reading one of my South Park related rants, feel free to check out my profile any time. I update it a hell of a lot more often than I do my story, LOL!_


	20. Phobic

_Author Notes: Thanks for all the reads and reviews. Here's chapter 20, aka their first date! By the way, if anything creeps you out at any point during this chapter, **please persevere and read through to the end.** You'll understand what I mean when you finish. Enjoy!_

**Chapter 20 – Phobic**

Waking up to good news is always a rare and uplifting experience. But by 9am on Saturday morning, Cartman and I had been told three separate pieces of good news in total. The first piece of news came when Cartman's cell phone rang at a little after 2am. Luckily we were both still wide awake talking at this time, which was very fortunate for the caller who happened to be Butters. He was ecstatic that he'd finally gone all the way with Porsche for the first time, and wanted to share his joy with us. Cartman promptly hung up on him after about four seconds, so I called him back and congratulated him. He described the event in what I felt was an unnecessary amount of detail, but I humoured him all the same. He told me how happy he felt inside, and I told him to get used to it. If he and Porsche are anything like me and Cartman, the feeling can only get better.

Later that morning, my cell phone rang. It was my dad, asking if I wanted to meet up with him and Ike tomorrow afternoon for lunch. Not really an earth-shattering piece of news, but considering my mom's behaviour, it means a lot to me that they want to take time out of their weekends to see me. The final and most important piece of news arrived with the mailman in the form of a letter for Liane. She's managed to land herself a job. Her new employer was apparently most understanding about her past and has given her a well-deserved chance. So, as of Monday morning, she'll be working the reception desk at South Park's sexual health clinic.

I've got a really good feeling about today.

Cartman and I spent most of the night talking about where to go on our date, but we just couldn't decide. It's like we had some sort of unspoken rule that this date needed to be perfect, therefore we needed to pick the most perfect place. The typical 'dinner and a movie' package was out of the question – I don't know why, but it just doesn't suit us somehow. I suggested a trip to Denver Zoo, totally forgetting about how a field trip there in sixth grade had resulted in Cartman receiving a lifetime ban. To cut a long story short, he stole everybody's hats and put them on the chimpanzees. How he actually managed to get into and out of the enclosure without being seriously injured is still a mystery to me, but I have to admit that I did kinda see the funny side of it. The chimps looked pretty funny, and it was just harmless mischief compared to Cartman's usual bullshit, so I did feel that the zoo keeper totally overreacted by banning Cartman from the zoo forever.

This is, until I got my ushanka handed back to me covered in squished banana peel and monkey shit.

It's probably just as well that we can't go to the zoo – I don't think I could stand the earache from Stan and Wendy ranting about those poor animals being in captivity. Cartman suddenly became inspired over breakfast as he was flicking through the newspaper. He grinned at me, confidently declaring that he knew the perfect place. He wouldn't tell me where, but assured me that I'd love it. I contemplated going through the newspaper to see if the same wave of inspiration would hit me, but I decided against it. He looked so pleased with himself that I couldn't possibly ruin his big surprise.

Once we were both dressed, we decide to just spend the morning chilling out in front of the TV before heading off on our date. There's a Terrance & Philip marathon on that we watch for nostalgia's sake. Although I laugh at all the appropriate moments, I'm not really focused on the jokes. I'm too busy trying to guess where we're going on our date. For some reason, I have no idea. I suppose I'll find out soon enough, but surely I know Cartman well enough that guessing something like this should be easy? My thoughts are interrupted when the phone rings. Cartman snatches up the receiver.

'What? ...Yeah? ...Really? ...Well, it's about goddamn time!'

I have to bite my lip to stop myself from laughing at his delightful telephone manner.

'Yeah sure, I'll be right there.'

He hangs up and pulls on his jacket.

'I gotta go out for a couple of minutes. The vet finally got Mr Kitty's ashes back from the crematorium, so I need to go pick up her urn type thingy. Can I trust you here by yourself?'

I nod as he rises from the couch and approaches the front door. He pauses in the doorway, casting a sly smirk over his shoulder.

'If you get bored, you can always-'

I cut him off. 'Count the quarters in the spare change jar, right?'

The look of surprise that hits his face is almost adorable.

'Hey! Don't hijack my jokes, Jew!'

'Then get some new material, douchebag.'

I laugh when he flips me off and closes the door behind him. As retarded as it sounds, I feel a little bit lost without him here. I try to keep my attention focused on the TV, but it's just not keeping my attention... I wonder if Cartman will mind if I use his computer to check my email. I'm sure he won't. I make my way upstairs to Cartman's room and go to his desk. The computer loads straight up when I turn it on. Wow...it isn't even password protected? This surprises me greatly considering what a private and somewhat suspicious person Cartman is, but it's also a relief. I'd hate to have to sit and work out what Cartman could possibly use as a password.

It looks like a pretty normal computer. I briefly wonder whereabouts his plans for world domination are filed under. Just as I'm about to click the Internet Explorer icon, I notice that there's a shortcut to a file labelled 'Joo pics' on the desktop. I know I shouldn't, but I can't help taking a look. Part of me expects to find a load of pictures of scenes from concentration camps, but instead I'm presented with well over three hundred pictures of me. It seems that Cartman has accumulated quite a collection of photographs of me over the years, some of which I wasn't even aware had been taken. I guess this is a little bit boarder-line creepy stalker type behaviour, but it's also sort of...flattering. So I can deal with it.

I click the Explorer icon and log into my email account. Nothing much to look at, really. Just a couple of those retarded 'OMG!! Forward this email to 15 people and you'll win the lottery!!!!' type emails. Yuck. Delete! Well, that was worth invading my boyfriend's privacy for. What else can I do? Damn...I wish I could remember what I used to use computers for before I discovered Internet porn. That said, it's been a pretty long while since I've actually looked at any. I guess there isn't a need for me to since I'm getting the real thing nowadays. Besides, I probably shouldn't even be using Cartman's computer at all so I definitely shouldn't be using it to watch porn...

I hesitantly type in the address of one of my favourite sites. I won't actually watch anything – I just wanna see what's new. Some of the fuckers on this site post some seriously sick shit that it's more like a shock site than a porn site anyway. I saw this one clip where a guy cut off the circulation to his balls with string, then hacked them off with a bread knife. That's beyond the realm of kink. That's just fucking disgusting. A new video under the rape fetish section catches my eye. The description says its two guys in balaclavas forcing some twink into sucking them off, then shoving both of their cocks into his ass. My finger hovers over the left button of the mouse for a good minute before I click. I suppose watching a couple of minutes won't do any harm...

As fucked up as it sounds, I sometimes have rape fantasies. It started one day last year. Cartman and I had been arguing quite aggressively that day, and as usual I was dwelling on it when I got home, replaying the dialogue over in my head. Suddenly I had visions of him shoving me up against the wall, tearing my clothes off and having his way with me while I struggled and tried to scream beneath him. The idea of it got me so hot that I started watching all of these gay prison and locker room rape videos to get off. Obviously, I wouldn't want it to happen to me for real, but I think it would be awesome to do it as part of role-playing. I keep trying to bring it up with Cartman, but there's never really a good time. We've never really asked each other for anything specific sexually before, they've just sort of happened. I loved it when he had me handcuffed down in the basement the other night, but I guess I'd like something more spontaneous, more violent.

More realistic.

Fucking hell, I sound like such a screwed up little pervert. I guess I probably am.

I freeze when I hear the front door open downstairs and Cartman yell that he's home. Ah shit! I hastily close the webpage and shut down the computer. I take a deep breath as I leave his room, hoping that my face doesn't look too flushed. It's not like I did anything all that wrong. I didn't even jerk off. But I'm sure there'll be plenty of time to sate my sexual desires after our mystery date this evening.

* * * * *

I totally forgot that one of those travelling fairgrounds run by carnies is in town this weekend. How the hell didn't I guess that Cartman would deem it as a perfect place for a date? It's just so typically him – fun despite being rough around the edges, and just a little bit dangerous and weird. I think it was an awesome idea, and I love the way his face lit up when I told him as much. This should be a great first date. It's a fairly big place and since it's about mid afternoon now it's already pretty busy, which is good from my point of view. I hate to sound anti-social, but I hope we don't run into anyone we know here. I just want it to be me and Cartman today, and I want us to feel comfortable together as a couple without having to worry about holding back in front of people like we have to with Stan.

Since we're both horror fans, we agree that our first stop should be the ghost house. It looks kinda crappy from the outside, but the inside is actually pretty cool. There's no cars, so you're just free to walk around inside. It's dark and cold, with luminous spider's webs draped from wall to wall. It's full of authentic smells and sound effects, and there's even a handful of convincing animatronics of various horror characters scattered about the place. A little way in, we turn a corner and are brought face to face with the snarling muzzle of a werewolf.

Cartman sniggers. 'That looks like your mom.'

I laugh inwardly - I knew he'd say that. I force an appalled expression onto my face. 'Dude! Don't talk about that poor monster like that!'

Cartman laughs as I give the werewolf an affectionate pat on the nose. I must have triggered a motion sensor or something, because the damn thing suddenly throws back its head and roars. The high-pitched yelp of fright I let out is enough to have Cartman laughing so hard that he has to lean against a faux coffin to keep his balance. My face crimson, I punch him in the arm as hard as I can to shut him up, but he continues to laugh despite his dead arm. I storm off further into the ghost house and he chases after me. We come to a room that is set up to look like a library, but has a load of fake headstones scattered around the floor. They all have names of famous horror writers on them, like Mary Shelley and Edgar Allan Poe. There's even a couple for people that aren't even dead yet such as Stephen King, which is a little distasteful for my liking but I guess I can live with it. Cartman lets out what sounds like a soft moan as he runs his finger over the top of Bram Stoker's headstone.

'Ever thought about fucking in a cemetery?' he asks softly.

Surprisingly, I haven't. It would be a little too creepy for my liking. Cartman doesn't wait for my reply before continuing.

'I think it would be awesome. Feeling so alive, despite being surrounded by so much death.'

I arch an eyebrow. 'You're warped, dude.'

'Look who's talking...'

Something about the way Cartman said that made my stomach twinge. The obvious smile in his voice makes me feel like he knows about my little encounter with his computer this morning. When he doesn't say anything else, I just assume that it was the guilt playing tricks on my mind and try not to think about it anymore.

After the ghost house we go on some more rides, including the Tilt-A-Whirl. Tilt-A-Whirls have always been one of my fairground favourites and I drag Cartman onto it three times in a row before we both start feeling a little bit nauseous from all the spinning. We sit down for a moment and decide where to go next. This particular fairground has a pretty special main attraction – a wooden Ferris wheel. I can't honestly say that I'm enthusiastic about going on it. I'm not enthusiastic about anything that looks like it's been constructed from tongue depressors and crazy glue. Cartman seems dead-set on going on it though.

'You really wanna go on this thing?' I ask.

'Yeah, I like the sweet view you can get from the top of these things.' He eyes me curiously. 'Why? What's the problem?'

I crinkle my nose. 'Look at it. It looks like a group of blind retarded monkeys put it together.'

Cartman clucks his tongue. 'Don't be such a snob, Jew.'

'I am **not **a snob!' I say with a scowl. 'I just don't think it looks very safe.'

He rolls his eyes, waving a dismissive hand. 'Of course it's safe! Nobody's died yet, have they? Don't be such a pussy.'

I don't get the chance to argue back as my hand is grabbed and I'm dragged towards the questionable structure. I hope to Moses that there aren't any beavers around here. A small family of them could make short work of this piece of shit. As we step into our carriage, I can't help but notice that the faux leather seats are old, torn and held together with duct tape. I don't say anything though. I'm **not** a fucking snob. I just don't want to die. I try not to think like that and make myself as comfortable as possible as the carriage ascends. Truth be told, this isn't as bad as I thought it would be. And Cartman is enjoying it, which is the most important thing. Just as we reach the top of the wheel, there's an unusual screeching sound from below and our carriage jerks to a stop. My breath catches in my throat.

'Oh my God...has this thing broken down?'

Cartman doesn't seem fazed. 'Relax. They're probably just letting other people on or something.'

I sneak a look out of our window down at the ground. One of the operators is ushering people back away from the ride, while the other is standing looking at the control panel, scratching his head in bewilderment. Oh, wonderful!

'It fucking has! It's broken down!'

'So what?' Cartman shrugs. 'You afraid of heights or something?'

'No, I'm afraid of falling to my death from a poorly structured piece of shit like this!'

I may have said that a little too harshly, but I'm kinda panicking here. Once again, Cartman seems unaffected by my freaking out.

'Just don't look,' he grins. 'Better yet, **do** look. Face your fears, Kyle. Here, this'll take your mind off of it.'

He starts rocking his body back and forward, making the carriage move with him. I'm clinging to my seat so hard that I can hear my fingernails scrapping against the duct tape.

'Stop it, Cartman!' I almost shriek.

'Chill out, Jew,' he sniggers. 'We're not gonna die.'

He stops rocking the car and puts his arm around my shoulder, his fingertips tickling at the back of my neck lightly. I feel so much better with the heat of his body so close to me. He grins when I lean into him and kisses me softly. Soon his fingers are knitted into my hair and his tongue is requesting access to my mouth. I reciprocate hungrily, still a little worked up after watching that video this afternoon. It's kind of a shame that we're stuck on this fucking wheel – I would love for this to go further right now. Cartman's lips pull away from mine so that he can whisper to me.

'Anything I can do to take your mind off it?'

Then again, I guess being stuck here doesn't necessarily mean things don't have to go further...

'Well, now that you mention it...'

My eyes drop downwards and I nod at my jeans. Cartman quirks a curious eyebrow at me.

'You can't be that fucking scared if you're in the mood for that, Kyle!'

'But you said 'anything',' I remind him huskily. 'C'mon...let's join the 100ft High Club.'

His smirk grows to match mine when I wink teasingly.

'But what if this thing falls to pieces and we fall to our deaths like you said?' he says. 'Is the back of my head really the last thing that you wanna see?'

I shrug playfully. 'Beats seeing the front.'

He scowls, but it isn't genuine. 'I hope I bite your dick off on the way down.'

I laugh softly as Cartman's broad hands reach for my zipper. My erect cock practically bursts out from beneath my clothes unaided. I observe as Cartman strokes me with both hands and slowly licks his lips before taking me into his mouth. He sucks my rigid flesh quite cautiously at first. He hasn't had much practise at doing this, mostly because I prefer doing it to him. He quickly becomes braver, taking my throbbing length into the back of his throat and suckling firmly. I stroke his hair in encouragement as his warm tongue flickers against my hot skin. I lean my head back as he continues, relishing the feeling of suction encasing my cock and gentle fingers squeezing my balls. Glancing back down at the head of chestnut hair bobbing up and down on my lap, I realise that Cartman was right – the view from up here is pretty sweet.

Suddenly, the carriage jerks to life and I hear the crowd cheer from the ground below. I feel Cartman jump and gag slightly on my cock before pulling back. I quickly put my cock back inside my pants as he straightens out his hair. As we descend back to earth, I notice how quickly it's becoming dark. The sun is already dipping down below the horizon, baking the sky a magnificent shade of dark red. When our feet are back on the ground, our eyes meet briefly and we grin at each other coyly. It's a shame we didn't get a chance to finish up there, but I suppose there's always later.

'Wanna go get something to eat?' I say casually.

He nods, equally nonchalant. 'Always.'

We make our way over to a cluster of booths selling food. There's quite a selection to choose from, but we decide on a little pizza shack and order a cheese pizza between us. As the shack owner puts our order into the oven, Cartman looks at me and smirks.

'Hey Kyle? Know what the difference is between a pizza and a Jew?'

I shoot him a warning look, but he ignores it.

'The pizza doesn't scream when you put it into an oven.'

Son of a bitch!

'Ow! Fuck, Kyle!'

I feel he well and truly deserves the sharp kick that I deliver to his shin. Furious, I stomp over to one of the little tables set up outside the shack and throw myself into a chair. Fucking fatass! You'd think that after all this time, he would have realised that I don't like hearing that kind of shit! I don't look up at him as he approaches and sits down beside me. There's a moment of silence. Cartman clears his throat awkwardly.

'What I meant to say was...that a pizza isn't nearly as delicious as a Jew.'

I continue to fume silently. He reaches for my hand, but I tug it away violently. I hear him sigh deeply.

'I was only joking, Kyle.'

'Last time I checked, jokes were supposed to be funny,' I snap. 'Consider your audience, Cartman. Why the hell would **a Jew** find a joke about Jews dying funny?'

He doesn't answer. There's another short pause. I assume he's internalising what I've just said. Either that or he's wondering how long the pizza's gonna be.

'So...am I to understand that Holocaust jokes are in the same category as the K word?'

My heart soars a little. I guess he **was** thinking of me after all.

'Yes,' I say flatly.

He reaches out for my hand again. I don't pull away this time, turning my eyes to meet his. He flashes me a sheepish grin, his deep chocolate eyes gentle and apologetic.

'Sorry.'

I can't stop myself from smiling at him. Goddamn it. I just don't seem to be able to stay as angry at him as I used to. I know he didn't say what he did to deliberately upset me. He was just trying to get a rise out of me, as usual. Unfortunately, he overdid it. Everyone has a line – he just needs to learn where mine is. I notice that he's rubbing his shin with the hand that isn't gripping mine.

'Jesus Christ, need anger management much?' he winces. 'You're so fucking aggressive sometimes.'

I snigger. 'Yeah, and you love it.'

He smirks broadly at me and I'm about to lean in to kiss him when the pizza dude shouts over to us that our food is ready. To be honest the pizza isn't all that great, but it doesn't change the fact that I'm having a great time. We have a really nice conversation as we eat, flirting shamelessly with each other and laughing about random stuff that pops into our heads. Cartman even treats me to an ice cream for dessert afterwards. It's delicious, a huge improvement on the pizza, and it's made all the sweeter by the fact that my mother would have a coronary if she knew I was eating it. She's always been so anxious over my diabetes, but a single scoop isn't going to do me any harm. When we've finished eating, Cartman looks at me and laughs.

'You've got ice cream on your cheek.'

I wipe at my face with the back of my hand. 'Did I get it?'

'Nope. Let me.'

He leans in and flicks out his tongue out, licking the cream from just beside my lip. I grin shyly and move forward, lightly pressing my lips to his. A couple of people sitting near us suddenly stop talking, so I assume we've caught their attention. Hope they enjoy the show - you'd think they'd never seen two guys kissing before.

'Hey! You kids can't do that here!'

We break our kiss and turn to look at the dude behind the counter. He looks pretty pissed off. Cartman looks as confused as I do by his outburst.

'Do what?' he asks.

'What you were just doing!' yells the dude.

I blink in confusion. 'Huh? You mean kiss?'

'That's exactly what I mean!' he growls.

I frown. 'Why the hell not?'

The guy rudely turns his back on us and busies himself with tidying his booth. What a prick. Cartman gets up and approaches the booth angrily, slamming his hands down on the countertop. I follow him, just in case he decides to do or say something that he's gonna regret later.

'Hey! My **boyfriend** asked you a question, dickhole!' Cartman bellows pointedly. 'What the hell's your problem?'

The stand owner slowly turns back around to look at Cartman, grimfaced.

'Look, boys. I realise that this is America, and therefore you guys are free to be as queer as you wanna be, despite what the good Lord Almighty may think of it. There ain't nothing I can do about that. However, I **can** ask that you kindly stay the hell away from my booth while you're doing it. We clear?'

Every word that passes his lips brings my blood closer to boiling point. That fucking fascist son of a bitch! Cartman looks totally stunned. I glance over my shoulder at the other customers around the booth. All of them are either staring over or making a big show of pretending not to stare. Screw this. I turn back to that asshole and give him the most evil look that I can muster, then grab hold of Cartman's arm and drag him away from the booth. He looks as furious as I do. We walk a couple of yard before Cartman explodes.

'That...that fucking redneck carnie motherfucking asshole dickhead!'

'I know, dude,' I say softly. 'Just try to forget about it.'

'How can I just forget about it?' Cartman splutters. 'How can **you**? He had no right to treat us that way, Kyle!'

'I know he didn't, but there's no point in arguing with people like that. I should know – my mother's one of them. Who cares what he thinks anyway? He's just some nobody who sells overpriced pizza from a crappy looking booth in an amusement park. Screw him.'

Cartman seems to consider what I say carefully. His annoyed expression slowly fades and he breaks into a smile.

'Yeah!' he laughs. 'That douchebag doesn't even get to be a ride operator. What a loser!'

I flash him a warm smile and tug on the sleeve of his jacket.

'C'mon, let's forget about that jackass and go have some more fun.'

Cartman nods and follows me further away from that shithead's booth. I knew that it was only a matter of time before we'd have to deal with someone like that. I guess it could have been worse. I'm surprised I kept my temper and managed to turn the other cheek so easily. I guess I've lived with some form of discrimination or intolerance for most of my life, so I must have developed a thick skin over the years.

Ironically though, I have Cartman to thank for that.

* * * * *

After a speedy recovery from that homophobic dickhead's onslaught, we spent some time playing games. They had air hockey and pool tables, so we played together for a while. But I guess old habits die hard, and we soon found ourselves getting quite competitive with each other and the insults started flowing back and forth. After coming close to hurling my pool cue javelin-style in the general direction of Cartman's head, I made the suggestion that we just watch each other play single player games. Cartman spent a while playing one of those games were you have to hit targets with a pellet gun in order to win prizes. He displayed a lot of skill handling the gun, and rarely missed the bull's-eye. It was a little disturbing, really. The booth owner looked pretty pissed off at handing over yet another prize as Cartman won for about the seventh time in a row.

'Wow...you're scarily good at this,' I mutter.

Cartman laughs. 'I know! Just look at all this crap that I've won!'

Crap would certainly be the operative word. All he's won is a pile of shitty toys – a box of toy soldiers, a toy gun, a piggy bank, a little wind-up car...it's like he's kidnapped the cast of Toy Story. I shudder slightly as I see the item on the very bottom of the pile. It's a white latex mask with blood-red staring eyes in the centre, and equally as red tufts of hair attached to the outside. Its mouth is wide and contorted into an evil grimace, its thick red lips surrounding a set of pointed yellowed teeth. I think it's meant to be a clown, but it's the scariest fucking clown I've ever seen.

'That mask is fucking creepy, dude.'

Cartman eyes the item and grins at me teasingly. 'Aww, is someone scared of clowns?'

'I wouldn't be dating **you** if I was, asshole!' I growl. 'And I'm not exactly scared of them. They just freak me out.'

Cartman sniggers as he scoops his prizes into a plastic shopping bag. The carnie looks relieved when Cartman moves onto a different shooting game. The object this time is to break three china plates with four bullets, though Cartman manages to break four plates with three somehow. The carnie praises his shooting ability vehemently, and hands over a plastic bag filled with water and a live goldfish. Cartman accepts his prize and gestures to me that he's done. I raise an eyebrow at the unusual prize as we walk away.

'What the hell do you want with a fish?' I ask.

'Oh, it's not for me. It's for Stan.'

I frown. 'Dude, Stan's scared of goldfish.'

Cartman smirks. 'I know. Anyway, it's starting to get dark. Let's make tracks.'

I nod in agreement and follow as Cartman tries to navigate our way back to the main entrance. Just as it comes into sight, Cartman stops me.

'Hey? That's that dickhole from the snack booth, right?'

I follow his gaze and sure enough, the redneck from the pizza stand walks by us. He doesn't appear to notice us as he enters a lone porta-potty next to a couple of trashcans. As the door clicks shut, Cartman and I exchange glances and grin devilishly. We silently get behind the porta-potty, resting our hands on the back of it and steadily leaning our weight forwards. Cartman gives the signal and we both push as hard as we can. Time seems slows down as the booth slowly topples over. The plastic booth hits the grass with a dull thud, and a torrent of shit spills out from underneath it. The echoing screams of the pizza guy can be heard from inside the booth as he cries out in anger and disgust. A crowd soon begins to gather, prompting Cartman to grab my hand and drag me away from the scene. Tears are streaming down his face as his distinct insane laughter fills the air. As we run as fast as we can out of the park to the bus stop, I'm laughing uncontrollably too.

At least I've learned something new today. Revenge isn't sweet – it's actually about 6 gallons of human waste instead.

* * * * *

By the time our bus reaches the outskirts of South Park, it's dark and lashing down with rain outside. This doesn't bother me at all. I've always loved the rain. When I was younger, I used to walk around in the rain in the dark whenever I was sad about something. How things change - I don't have anything to be sad about tonight. Cartman seems to be enjoying the weather too, tilting his head back to gaze up at the sky. He glances over at me and grins.

'Did I ever tell you how unbelievably poofy your hair gets when it rains?'

'Plenty of times,' I deadpan in response.

Cartman chuckles. 'Hey, let's go along the tracks by Kenny's. It's a shortcut.'

'Isn't that dangerous?'

'The tracks haven't been used in years, Kyle.' He rolls his eyes at me, starting off in the direction of a little side-street off the main road that leads down to the tracks. He glances at me over his shoulder. 'C'mon! Where's your sense of adventure, you friggin' dork?'

I scowl at his wide back as he walks out of sight. Goddamn it... I break into a run, yelling after him.

'Don't call me a dork, r-tard!'

I quickly catch up to him, hesitating before following him onto the tracks. It looks safe enough, but there's a lot of overgrown shrubbery on either side of us. I feel like there could be a thousand pairs of eyes in those bushes, watching our every move. Not to mention the fact that there's almost no light here, save for the sliver of moonlight breaking through the clouds above. On the plus side, we're quite sheltered from the rain in here, and if this is a shortcut we shouldn't be in here very long.

We continue on to an area that's even more closed in and dark than the previous one. There's a small brick bridge over this part of the track, which makes me recognise the area instantly – it's the part of the tracks from Cartman's photographs. I observe our gloomy surroundings and shudder.

'This place looked a lot more appealing in your pictures,' I say shakily.

When he doesn't reply, I turn around and find that he's disappeared. Shit!

'Cartman? Where the hell are you?'

Again, no reply. I know he's probably just messing around, but it doesn't stop my heart from pounding uncontrollably in my chest.

'This isn't funny, asshole! You're freaking me out!'

Before I can begin looking for him, I'm grabbed from behind and slammed up against the wall of the bridge. I manage to squirm around to look at my attacker, and almost scream when I'm faced with that fucked up clown mask. It stares at me for an agonisingly long time, motionless, head tilted slightly to the side. Jesus Christ, that's fucking horrible! I don't care if it's really Cartman under that thing, I'm really fucking freaked out right now.

'Well then,' he says huskily. 'What's a cute little thing like you doing out here by yourself?'

I'm too stunned and confused to reply.

'What's the matter, pretty boy?' he presses. 'You a mute or something?'

After a moment of silence, I hear a click and feel something press against my temple. It's the barrel of Cartman's toy gun.

'Answer me,' he growls, his voice low and threatening.

Ah...a new game. Interesting. I'm still not digging the clown mask, but I'll play along. I refuse to look at that hideous face as I speak.

'I was walking with my boyfriend. He's disappeared.'

I don't even have to fake the shaking in my voice, I'm genuinely that freaked out. Cartman lets out a deliciously thick chuckle from underneath his mask.

'Good,' he drawls. 'I'd hate for him to have to see what I'm about to do to you.' He steps back away from me and gestures at the ground with his gun. 'On your knees.'

'No.'

My decision to experiment with defying him results in a handful of my hair being grabbed forcefully. He pulls my head up, forcing me to look into the dark crimson eyes of that evil clown mask.

'I said, on your knees!' he spits.

I pretend to cry as he roughly forces me into a kneeling position. The butterflies in my stomach are going ballistic, though I can't decide whether it's down to the thrill of this situation, or fear of that fucking mask. When Cartman kneels down beside me, I squeeze my eyes shut just in case I accidentally catch sight of that face again.

'When I tell you to do something, you fucking do it,' he hisses in my ear. 'Got that, faggot? Do as I say and I might not kill you.'

He taps my forehead with the gun to make his point as he stands again.

'Now, suck it.'

I slowly open my eyes to find his clothed crotch in front of me and hesitantly reach forward for his zipper. He pulls away from me.

'Not that, homo. This.'

He brandishes the toy gun in front of my face. In such poor light, it looks realistic enough that it makes imagining this scenario a whole lot easier. I tentatively tease the front sight of the gun with my tongue before slowly take the barrel into my mouth. I boldly lift my hands, placing them on top of Cartman's and gripping the gun so that I can work it as if it were a cock. Cartman chuckles as his free hand clamps down on top of mine.

'Like that, fag?' he sneers. 'You like knowing that any second, my finger could slip and a bullet could fly into the back of your skull?'

I'm in no position to answer, the plastic gun clicking against my teeth as it rhythmically slides in and out of my mouth. A jolt of electricity seems to shoot through my insides whenever my bottom lip brushes against the finger pressed to the trigger. It's like part of me really believes that I could get shot. For some reason this notion goes straight to my crotch and I squirm as my cock starts to harden inside my jeans.

Without warning, the gun is tugged out of my mouth and my chin is lifted so that I'm looking up at Cartman's masked face. Rain drops splash down into my eyes as that pale expression of wickedness stares back at me for another long chilling moment. I feel my whole body shudder – I wonder if Cartman realises what his horrific prop is doing to me. I decide to play my part and force some tears into my eyes. In response, he slowly turns his body and gestures at the tracks next to us.

'Lie down on the tracks. Now.'

I gradually do as requested, my pitiful sniffling barely audible over the rain thundering off the ground. I'm soaked from head to foot as I lay down at Cartman's feet. He kneels next to me and quickly binds my wrists and ankles to the tracks with what feels like cable ties. God knows where the fuck he got those from. I gasp as he straddles my hips, pulling my t-shirt up and aggressively ravaging my chest with his fingernails. I whimper pathetically and squirm beneath him, prompting him to increase his grip on me. When he's done scratching the hell out of my chest, he violently yanks my jeans down and fondles my hardening cock roughly.

'Looks like you're enjoying this,' he says mockingly. 'I'm flattered.'

He spreads my legs a little, stroking his fingertips against my balls as his hand dips in between the cheeks of my ass. His broad fingers start invading me, the harsh friction against my entrance walls making my body convulse intensely. I moan throatily, staring up at the raindrops as they thunder down on my half naked body. It's not long before the fingers disappear and are replaced with a cold deformed lump of plastic. I yelp and squirm uncomfortably, trying to get used to the feeling of Cartman's gun pounding in and out of me. The rough geometric shape of the barrel presses down hard against pressure points inside of me, sending waves of excruciating pleasure through my nervous system.

I gasp harshly as Cartman's free hand takes hold of my cock and starts stroking firmly. I hear him chuckle when I start groaning, lost in an overwhelming blend of bliss and pain. He becomes so distracted by my moans that he loses his grip on the gun. It's in this moment that I remember that I'm meant to be the victim here – I should probably try to escape or something. I seize my chance as he fumbles to regain control of the gun and kick out at him. I think I catch him in the stomach and I struggle against my bond when he has a brief coughing fit. My struggling is to no avail and when Cartman regains his senses he grabs hold of my face tightly and forces me to look at him. The menacing face of the clown matches the tone of his voice perfectly.

'That was very fucking naughty of you. Now, your little friend here must suffer the consequences.'

The bag containing the goldfish is held up in front of my face. Huh? What the fuck is he planning on doing to the goldfish? He releases my face and moves with the bag out of my sight. Confused, I strain to hear some clue as to his next move will be. As Cartman repositions himself between my legs, I hear what sounds like a plastic bag being torn and water gushing. Oh, no... No way is he gonna do that! He's just yanking my chain. There's no way he's gonna do **that** to that poor fish!

Wrong. My eyes fly open in surprise as something cold, wet and wriggling is steadily pushed into my ass. I'm stunned. No fucking way! I don't fucking believe that he's done this. Jesus Christ, there's a goldfish in my ass! This is so fucked up and wrong, though you wouldn't know that I feel like that by the way my body's squirming in response to the fish's movement inside of me. It feels so gross, yet strangely familiar and pleasant at the same time - kind of like the time Cartman stuck his tongue inside me. No! I can't be enjoying this – I shouldn't! It's a live animal, for fuck's sake! However, before I can work out exactly how I'm feeling about this situation, the wriggling abruptly slows to a halt. Oh my God... I killed a goldfish!

I'm a bastard.

The evil clown face suddenly appears in front of me again. This time, I do cry out in fright.

'Oops,' he sniggers. 'Guess your tight ass was too much for Mr Goldfish...'

My face flushes the colour of those crimson eyes. I swear, there's something seriously wrong in my boyfriend's head! But I'll worry about that later. He raises himself up on his knees in between my legs and leans forward. I struggle theatrically when I feel the head of his cock press against my slick ravaged entrance.

'Let's see if it's too much for me.'

He thrusts his hips forward aggressively, penetrating me with his thick length. I writhe below him, gasping heavily when his fingernails dig into my hips and pin me to the cold wet dirt beneath me. My eyes instinctively lock on his face, and I'm once again chilled by that hideous mask. The combination of the pleasure, the horror and the mere idea that I'm supposed to be playing a rape victim is enough to make me start sobbing quietly. Over the sound of heavy rainfall, I can hear Cartman's contented groaning. His fingers stroke my chest affectionately, a sure sign that he approves of my performance.

'I bet I know what you want,' he murmurs. 'I bet you want me to come inside you? Don't you, gorgeous?'

'No! Please don't!' I whimper dramatically.

'Don't deny it. You know you want my hot load inside your beautiful ass.'

His thrusts become harder and more enthusiastic as we both gasp and moan feverishly, the rain still thundering down on top of us. As I feel myself nearing the edge, Cartman runs his powerful hands further up my chest to my shoulders. I turn my face away as he leans over me, so close that I can feel the curled hair of his mask brushing against my cheek.

'Please, let me go!' I groan. 'Haven't you tortured me enough?'

'Tortured you?' he snorts in between pants. 'I give you all this pleasure when my original plan was to kill you, and you accuse me of torturing you? How ungrateful!'

His fingertips tickle my neck gently before his hands take a firm grip of my throat. Alarmed, I turn my face to look at him, my stomach doing somersaults as that mask hovers only an inch above my face.

'Die happy, my love.'

He increases the pressure around my neck, cutting off both my breathing and the circulation to my brain. I start feeling dizzy and panic – what the fuck is he thinking? For a split second, I legitimately believe that I'm going to die. And in that same split second, I hit the hardest most intense orgasm I've ever had. His hands promptly release my neck in time for a euphoric scream to escape my lungs. Tremors of pleasure rock through my body as I feel Cartman empty his load inside of me. He collapses on top of me with a low moan, our simultaneous panting drowning out the sound of the downpour around us.

After a few minutes, I hear Cartman's flick knife open as he carefully cuts away the cable ties holding me to the tracks. The first thing I do when my hands are free is drag the mask from his face and throw it into a nearby bush. I never want to see that fucking thing again for as long as I live. When I'm totally free, I pull Cartman back down on top of me and give him a firm peck on the lips.

'Oh my God,' I exclaim. 'That was so fucking intense!'

'Thought you might enjoy it.' Cartman chuckles. 'By the way, I'll have to show you how to delete an Internet history sometime.'

Oops. I forgot about that. I must look like a deer caught in headlights right now. I think I've got a little explaining to do.

'Shit. Look, I swear I wasn't using your computer specifically to-'

He holds up a hand to silence me. 'Kyle, it's fine. I'm not one of those jealous nutsacks that freaks out when their partner watches porn. But you know, if you ever wanna try something new you should just say so.'

He smiles at me reassuringly, and I suddenly feel really stupid. I should have known that all along. I'll never hold back from him again.

'No matter what you want, I won't think any less of you for it,' he continues. 'It's not like I don't know what a kinky sick queer-mo you are already.'

He seems to subconsciously glance over to his left as he says this. I follow his gaze and to my surprise, the goldfish is still alive, happily swimming around in its bag. What the hell...?

'Oh, **I'm** a sick queer-mo?' I growl. 'You're the one that pretended to shove a goldfish up my ass! What the fuck was that?'

Cartman looks at me like I'm retarded. 'My pinky finger. What else? In any case, you're the one who let me do it!' He grins. '**And **you actually enjoyed it! There's simply no depth as to how low you'll sink to get off, huh?'

'Look who's talking, you twisted fuck! Why would you even think to do something like that?'

'I was testing your limits, freak-job! I didn't think you'd actually let me go ahead with it! You **do** remember the safe word, right?'

'Of course I do! I just didn't expect you to stick a live animal up my ass!'

'Perhaps you would have preferred a toy soldier up there instead?'

'Yes! I mean, no! Damn it!' He breaks into peals of laughter, and I can feel my face turning purple with embarrassment. 'Shut up. Fat sicko.'

He grins, unaffected by the insult. 'Scrawny pervert.'

'Warped racist asshole.'

'Dirty Christ killer.'

'Fucking ass master.'

Cartman snorts. 'I think you'll find that **you're** the ass master, Jew. It's such a shame that we don't know anyone with a gerbil.'

'Fuck off,' I snarl.

'You know, I'm pretty sure Butters still keeps hamsters, though I'm not sure he'd appreciate-'

'Fuck off, I said!' I pout angrily, much to Cartman's amusement. 'Why the hell are we still lying here in the rain anyway?'

He nuzzles his face into my chest. 'Cos it's sexy.'

'Yeah, pneumonia's really fucking hot.' I deadpan. 'Move, fatass.'

Cartman reluctantly gets up off of me and helps me to my feet once I've pulled my jeans back up. We trudge home together, wet and filthy from our activities. It doesn't take us too long to get home, so hopefully we won't both be loaded with influenza come tomorrow morning. When we reach Cartman's front door, he turns the key in the lock and turns to face me before opening up.

'Well, Kyle...thank you for a lovely evening.'

He smiles coyly and pulls me close. I lean up and wrap my arms around his neck, pressing my lips to his. His arms tighten around my waist as he kisses me back, and my stomach flutters. Our kiss seems to last forever, but it still isn't long enough for me. When it ends, we pull back to look at each other, still wrapped in each other's embrace.

'Thank **you**,' I whisper.

'Wanna come inside for...coffee?' he asks, winking.

I raise an eyebrow, smirking playfully. 'Are you sure? After all, it **is** only our first date.'

Cartman looks thoughtful for a moment. 'Well, if coffee doesn't float your boat, I'll see if I can find a small animal to shove up your ass instead.'

Goddamn it! He's never gonna let me live that down, is he? Fucker. He laughs when I punch him in the arm, then drags me through the open doorway and slams the door shut behind us. I should have known that a date with Eric Cartman would have ended with me being sore, wet and mentally traumatised. But all things considered, this is the best first date I've ever had.

* * * * *

_Please note that no goldfishes were harmed in the production of this fan fiction!_

_I haven't really got very much to say as part of my closing author notes this time around. Just that hopefully I'll be able to update a bit quicker from now on as work have been a lot more merciful with my working hours lately. Long may it continue!_

_I hope that you enjoyed Kyle and Cartman's first date as much as they did. The next chapter will mostly revolve around Kyle meeting up with Gerald and Ike, though I'm planning on having Kenny appearing at some point. And more kinky Kyle/Cartman sex stuff. So, watch this space!_

_Thanks for reading!_

_DD_

_xx_


	21. Contact

_Author notes: It's been a while, peeps! I've not been very well lately, and it turns out the medication I was on was only making me worse which is never a good thing. In any case, I'm okay now and I've spent most of my weekend recovering and finishing off this here bi-atch! I'm still not 100%, so if there's any glaringly obvious mistakes in here, be gentle. Hope I've made it worth the wait for you – enjoy!_

**Chapter 21 – Contact**

Stan received Cartman's little peace offering about as well as expected. It can't have been a positive experience for the guy – opening his front door first thing on a Sunday morning expecting to see his friends, but instead being greeted by the bulging eyes and gaping mouth of his worst nightmare. Still, I don't think I deserved such a high-pitched girlish shriek of fright battering my eardrums, or a door being so melodramatically slammed in my face. Once Cartman had stopped laughing his ass off, I played mediator through Stan's mail-slot and managed to convince him to come out of his house. This was on the condition that the goldfish was removed from his front yard with immediate effect. After some degree of protest, Cartman reluctantly hopped over the fence into the neighbours' yard, emptying the goldfish from of its bag into their pond.

As we dragged a shaken Stan down the street to the basketball courts, I considered Cartman's handling of the goldfish and how uncharacteristic it was of him. The Eric Cartman of years gone by would have just as happily hucked the fish, bag of water and all, at the next passing car. In fact, it probably would have been his favoured course of action. It just surprises me that he was so considerate, especially without being prompted. I hate to sound arrogant, but maybe my good nature is starting to rub off on him a little. Perhaps he's slowly but surely beginning to grow up.

When we arrive at the courts, Kenny and Craig are already there waiting for us. The five of us play some random games, like Horse and Baseketball, and then a little three on two (which according to Kenny works out as equal teams, since Cartman is 'big enough to count as two people'). Not wanting to get too sweaty for going to lunch with my dad, I eventually sit out on the sidelines and just watch the others play. Well, to be more accurate, I watch Cartman. Granted, he's not exactly overflowing with athletic prowess, but it's nice to see him having fun. Seeing him grinning and bouncing around like a goofball as he plays keep-away with Craig reminds me how harmlessly playful and child-like he can be at times. And although this is probably just my opinion, he looks overwhelmingly doable in his comfy old sweatpants and t-shirt. His large chest heaves in and out as he takes rapid breaths, and his dark hair clings to his forehead with sweat. He kinda looks like he does right after we've...

Goddamn it, I sound like a fucking airhead cheerleader drooling over her jock boyfriend. I might as well pull on a pleated mini-skirt and grab a pair of pompoms.

Hmm...I wonder how Cartman would react if I actually did that...

'Damn it, Cartman! Stop hogging the fucking ball!'

Craig sounds pissed. It's hardly surprising – he's been trying to get the ball from Cartman for about five minutes now. True to form, Cartman simply laughs in his face. 'It's called playing defence, Craig!'

'Wrong!' Craig growls. 'It's called playing a selfish fucker, asshole!'

He lunges forward to grab for the ball, but to no avail. Cartman's slightly taller and, of course, a lot bulkier than most of the guys our age, which makes it pretty easy for him to 'play defence', as he calls it. Craig lunges once more and Cartman turns his back, effectively using his ass to deflect Craig's assault and knock him to the ground. He's done that to me countless times and it really pisses me off, but seeing it happen to someone else for a change is pretty fucking hilarious!

'Jesus Christ!' Craig sits up and slaps the asphalt in frustration. 'What the fuck does Kyle see in your fat ass?'

Kenny approaches Craig, offering him a hand up with a scolding expression on his face.

'Now that's not very cool, Craig,' he says sternly. 'Kyle can't help it if he's a chubby chaser.'

I scowl at that. How rude! I've already chased and caught the only chubby I'll ever want. Cartman doesn't look too happy with that comment either.

'Fuck you, Kenny!'

He hurls the ball in Kenny's direction with considerable force. It hits its mark, colliding with Kenny's chest and knocking him on his ass.

'Nice one, Ken!' Craig sniggers, retrieving the ball.

'Ha! Did you see that, you guy?' Cartman snorts. 'Kenny's so poor, he can't even afford to pay attention.'

'Fuck off, Cartman,' Kenny snarls, picking himself up. He takes the ball from Craig and hurls it back to Cartman, who skilfully catches it.

'Seriously dude,' Cartman smirks. 'Last time I went to your house, all the cockroaches banded together and mugged me. That's twenty bucks you owe me, asshole!'

He throws the ball back at Kenny, who manages to catch it this time. Kenny glares at him, raising an eyebrow.

'What do you need with twenty bucks? You've already got more pounds than the Bank of England, fatass.'

Ooh, very nice word play. Cartman doesn't look fazed though, not even at the force that Kenny returns the ball with.

'That reminds me, Kenny,' Cartman smirks as he catches and returns the ball. 'Is it true that burglars once broke into your house and left **you** money?'

Kenny catches. 'Is it true that the last time you went to the zoo, the elephants threw peanuts at **you**?'

Cartman catches again. 'Hmm, I don't seem to remember that. I **do** remember this one time, I asked to use your bathroom and your mom handed me a shovel and pointed towards the back yard.'

Once again, Kenny catches. 'Well, I seem to remember this one time, Kyle told me that the only time it gets really hot in your bedroom is when the air conditioning breaks down.'

Cartman doesn't even attempt to catch this time. The ball sails by him, bouncing a few times before slowly rolling to a stop. He glares at Kenny, his face turning red.

'At least I can afford air conditioning, asshole!'

God, he sounds furious. Judging by Kenny's face, he knows he's hit a nerve, and couldn't be happier for having done so. The two of them stand facing each other silently, just sort of staring each other down. I get up to fetch the ball, and just as I'm about to say something to break the tension Stan beats me to it.

'Sure you don't want in for a few more, Kyle?'

'Nah, it's cool,' I reply, tossing him the ball. 'My dad will be here any minute.'

'Yeah, don't worry about Kyle,' Craig remarks, smiling good-naturedly. 'He probably enjoys watching sweaty guys playing with their balls in any case, right dude?'

Kenny nods, sniggering. 'If it's sweat he likes, he's in luck. They don't come much sweatier than Cartman.'

'Enough of the wisecracks, asshole!'

Everyone cringes at the harsh tone of Cartman's voice. With a frustrated growl, he storms over to where I'm sitting on the grass and throws himself down beside me. He won't even look at me – a sure sign that he's really pissed off. I don't get it - is he really so bothered about Kenny belittling his sexual prowess? Kenny comes over and deliberately sits directly in front of Cartman, trying to make eye contact. He'd better watch it – when Cartman's like this, trying to look him in the eye is like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Craig and Stan slowly approach, looking ready to pull apart a fight if necessary. Cartman eventually looks up, his chocolate eyes bubbling over with fury, much to Kenny's amusement.

'So, let me get this straight. After all these years of you ripping on me for being poor, you want **me** to cut the wisecracks?' Kenny snorts. 'Oh I think not, my Jew molesting friend.'

'You're not just ripping on **me** though. You're insulting Kyle too, and that's not cool!' Cartman glances at me. 'Right, Kyle?'

I shrug. 'It doesn't really bother me, to be honest.'

'Goddamn it, Kyle!' Cartman snaps, pouting slightly. 'I'm your man! You're supposed to support me!'

'How's a scrawny thing like Kyle supposed to support your fat ass?' Kenny sniggers.

I can practically hear Cartman's teeth grinding together as he replies. 'Kenny, I swear to fucking God, I'll-'

Kenny cuts him off. 'You'll what? Sit on me? Or would you prefer to do that to Kyle?' He glances at me, eyebrow raised. 'Seriously dude, I dunno how you do it. You deserve an award for bravery or some shit, 'cause you run the risk of death by asphyxiation every time you fuck him.'

I know Kenny's just kidding, but it's pretty mean-spirited to use Cartman's relationship with me as a reason to rip on him. One look at my boyfriend's face tells me that Kenny's gone too far. I don't understand why Cartman is so bothered by it and why he isn't making a comeback in his defence. But whatever the reason, I can't stand seeing that dismayed expression on his face a moment longer. I give his knee a firm squeeze, smiling flirtatiously as I turn to Kenny.

'Well, that's a risk I'm more than willing to take,' I say huskily. 'The phrase "the bigger the cushion, the sweeter the pushin'" doesn't exist for nothing, Ken. Big guys are awesome, especially when they're as...anatomically proportionate as Cartman, if you know what I mean.'

Winking saucily, I turn my head and plant a light kiss on Cartman's cheek. I might have over-exaggerated a bit, but it was enough to shut Kenny's mouth. In fact, he looks caught somewhere between being horrified and intrigued. Craig and Stan, on the other hand, both just look plain horrified. It's hardly surprising – I'm never usually so brazen in my actions, at least not in public. Perhaps a little of Cartman's personality is rubbing off onto me too. I feel a strong hand on my shoulder and turn to see him grinning widely at me.

'Damn right, mother fuckers!' he bellows. 'The phrase 'Jew are fucking smart' doesn't exist for nothing either. Kyle knows where it's at, bitches!'

I grin at that - I guess he appreciates my support. His hand creeps up into my hair, squeezing slightly he pulls me in for a kiss. Just as our lips are about to meet, a car horn sounds. As my dad's car pulls into view, Cartman's hand hastily releases my hair and he scoots away from me nervously. Swallowing a laugh at his coyness I move after him, my hands cupping his face as I press my lips to his. If he thinks I'm not kissing him goodbye just because my dad's there, he's mistaken. I feel the rumbling in his throat as he lets out a surprised groan and hesitantly kisses me back. I think I can hear Stan gagging. He's such a pussy – we're not even using tongue!

The kiss is kept brief, and when I pull away Cartman looks a little flushed. _Just like he does right after we've..._

'See you at home later,' I murmur.

He nods wordlessly, an uncontrollable smirk tugging at his lips. I get to my feet, ignoring the various expressions on my friends' faces.

'Bye guys,' I say casually.

As I pass Kenny, he smirks at me. 'Hey, don't we get a kiss too?'

I roll my eyes and briskly walk towards the car. Glancing back over my shoulder, I catch Cartman openly gazing at my ass as I leave. Clearly I'm not the only one who notices this as Kenny moves closer to Cartman, making smooching noises and imitating his voice.

'_Kissy kissy! I'll miss you, Kaaahl!'_

'Kenny, shut the fuck up!'

'_Ooh, my sex-ay li'l Jewboy! Whatever will I do for the next few hours without your sweet Hebrew ass to drool over?_'

'I'll just spend the time kicking **your** broke ass, you shit-fucking nut-sack!'

'Aww, Eric! Must you take everything so _serious-lah_?'

I don't hear Cartman's agitated response as I open the passenger door and hop into the car. Judging by my dad's smile, he either didn't see the kiss or didn't mind it. He's wearing jeans today. That's weird. I don't think I even remember the last time I saw Dad in casual clothes.

'Hey Kyle,' he greets me.

I return his smile. 'Hi.'

I glance into the backseat and wave at Ike, who nods politely. As we pull away, I sit back in my seat and relax, chuckling to myself as I catch sight of Cartman sitting on a squirming Kenny in the rear view mirror.

* * * * *

After a short and relatively silent car journey, we arrive at a vaguely familiar restaurant. I think we came here as a family once to celebrate when Ike got bumped up a grade in school for about the hundred-billionth time.

_As a family..._

I've just realised that I've never actually had a family meal with just Dad and Ike before. It kinda feels...weird without Mom. Whether it's a good or bad weird, I'm yet to decide. My dad orders a round of cokes as we get comfortable in a corner booth. I lean my elbows on the table, staring blankly at the lunch menu in front of me. A strange feeling grips at my gut and I don't really feel like eating all of a sudden. My dad and Ike are silently reading their menus too. This situation feels a little awkward, though I'm not sure why.

'So...how's Mom?' I start slowly.

'We're not here to talk about your mother.'

My dad's abrupt answer and dark expression takes me by surprise. Ike, on the other hand, doesn't seem fazed. What the hell has been going on since I left? Noticing my raised eyebrow, Dad clears his throat and smiles brightly.

'We're here to have a nice father-son lunch, and to see how you're doing,' he says evenly. 'So, how are things with you and Eric?'

He seems adamant to change the subject, so I comply without further question. I can always interrogate Ike later.

'Things are great,' I reply. 'We're starting to get the hang of living together, and we went on our first real date yesterday.'

'The fairground,' Ike says with a nod, not looking up from his menu.

I frown, confused. 'Yeah...how'd you know?'

'I have my sources,' he raises his eyes and smirks wickedly. 'How's the goldfish?'

What did I ever do to deserve such a creepy little brother? 'Err...anyway, we had a lot of fun.' Ike opens his mouth to speak again, so I quickly change the subject. 'And Cartman's mom got a new job. She's gonna be a receptionist.'

'That's fantastic,' Dad says, genuinely pleased. 'I'll have to remember to congratulate her next time we speak on the phone.'

Another awkward silence washes over the table. Why is this so hard? It's just dinner with my dad – why is this situation making me so nervous? Dad looks pretty anxious about it too. Ike doesn't seem bothered though. I don't think anything bothers Ike, to be honest. He eventually lays his menu down and flashes me a big cheesy smile.

'So, what does your **boyfriend** want to do with his life?' he asks.

'He wants to be a professional photographer.' I notice the look of concern my dad desperately tries to mask with a plastic smile and hastily continue. 'He's looking into taking art courses at college. We know it's a hard business to break into, but it's what he's always wanted to do. He's really good at it too. I should get him to show you his portfolio sometime. It's incredible. He really has a talent for it.'

My dad nods, trying to look optimistic though clearly not one hundred percent convinced. 'Ambitions are good to have.'

'Hmm,' Ike nods too, sipping from his coke. 'Speaking of which, has it always been **your** ambition to be a fat Nazi's chew-toy, or is this a new thing?'

I hate my brother sometimes. Dad gives him a warning look before turning his attention back to me.

'I think what Ike means is that you and Eric have been friends for such a long time now. How did you two end up getting together?'

I blush and stare into my glass of coke, briefly wondering at the back of my mind whether or not it is in fact Pepsi that I'm drinking. As far as answering this question is concerned, I think it's probably for the best that I skim over the details.

'I...well, it just sort of happened. I think to some degree, we've both always had feelings for each other...' I start to blush, smiling gently despite myself. 'It's kinda like we belong together. I just feel like he's the other half of me somehow.'

Ike sniggers and I growl softly in response. Little Canadian jackass! Apparently my annoyed expression doesn't go unnoticed, and my dad puts a handful of quarters on the table.

'Ike, why don't you go play on the pinball machine for a little while?' he says.

'But I don't like pinball.' Ike replies smartly.

'Well, why don't you go see if there's another game around here that you **do** like?'

'I don't like any games.'

Dad narrows his eyes slightly. 'Then why don't you go get us some more drinks?'

Ike eyes our full glasses and shoots Dad a somewhat condescending smirk. 'Dad, would you like me to leave so that you can talk to Kyle alone?'

'Yes, please.'

'Then that's all you needed to say.'

Smart mouthed little bastard. Probably learned it from me. Without further argument, Ike scoops up the coins and makes his way towards the small gaming area. Dad and I glance at each other, both smiling weakly. I really have no idea what to say, so I just turn back to watch Ike as he approaches a game machine and slips a coin into the slot. God, these awkward silences are killing me. Suddenly, Dad speaks.

'So...just to clarify, is it only boys that you're interested in, or do you like girls too?'

Oh, here we go...I turn my eyes to meet his. 'I'm gay, Dad.'

It feels so good to finally say that. There isn't even a trace of disappointment in my dad's face as he takes this in.

'And Eric?'

'He's pretty much totally gay too.'

At least, I'd assume as much from the 'fully fledged faggots' comment from the other night anyway. Dad nods slowly.

'I see. And have you been...physically intimate together?'

That was totally the wrong time for me to take a sip of coke. I splutter and nearly choke to death as traces of fizzy sweet liquid sting my throat. Once I've recovered, I stare at my father with wide, watery eyes.

'Dad, are you for real?' I manage to squeak out.

He shrugs. 'I'm just trying to establish how serious you two are.'

I look around and notice that the elderly couple sitting a few tables away from us are glancing over at us curiously. I feel myself starting to blush. I really don't want to be having this conversation with my father.

'Yes!' I hiss quietly.

'And you...enjoy it?'

'Dad! Jesus Christ!'

Tell me he didn't just say that! He holds up his hands in surrender. 'I'm just trying to encourage a flow of honesty.'

'Oh, in that case – hell yeah, Dad!' I say snippily, my voice overflowing with sarcasm. 'I absolutely **love** being 'physically intimate' with my boyfriend. We're 'physically intimate' practically twenty-four seven. In fact, sometimes we're so damn 'physically intimate' that I can barely fucking stand to sit down the next day. Next question? Our favourite positions, maybe?'

Yeah, Ike definitely gets his smart mouth from me. Dad rolls his eyes and sighs, no doubt used to hot-temperedness having been married to my mother for so long.

'Kyle, I'm only trying to eliminate the possibility that you're just...'

He hesitates. I'm intrigued. 'That I'm just...?'

'Confused.'

He cringes as he says this, as if he's expecting me to explode again. I don't.

'I understand where you're coming from but my relationship with Cartman isn't about sex,' I say calmly. 'I'm in love with him. I wouldn't say it if I didn't truly believe it in my heart.'

'You're right. I'm being patronising. Sorry, Kyle.'

My dad sighs again, closing his eyes and massaging his temples with his fingertips. There's something else on his mind, I just know it.

'Dad, if something's concerning you then just tell me.'

He looks up at me and smiles tentatively. 'Kyle, I know that you have your own mind. You always have. I know that you never make a choice without solid reasoning behind it, and I refuse to prejudge Eric in the way that your mother has. You know that you have my full support. My only concern is that you're both still so young. You haven't even started college yet and you're already in a serious relationship.'

I roll my eyes at that. 'It's not **that** serious! You make it sound like we've eloped or something.'

'You're living with him.'

Touché.

'Okay, so we're **slightly** more serious than most couples our age,' I say with a shrug. 'But that works for us. I know that we're young and that we both still need to grow as people, but we need to grow **together**. Cartman would never let me screw up my life, and I'm pretty sure he'd quickly kick my ass back into shape if I tried to. And the same goes the other way around. We only want what's best for each other.'

Dad takes a moment to process this information. He doesn't say anything, but the confident smile that he breaks into makes him look as if he genuinely has faith in what I've just said. Before another word can pass between us, Ike saunters over.

'These crappy games are an insult to my intellect,' he remarks cockily. 'Am I welcome back yet?'

'Sure,' Dad replies.

As Ike takes his seat, I'm tempted to breathe a sigh of relief. I guess the interrogation is officially over, although it wasn't anywhere near as bad as I thought it was gonna be. Now that the hard stuff is out of the way, we can start relaxing and having a good time. We chat and joke together quite happily as we eat. I'm really glad that Ike is here, because whenever the flow of conversation starts to hit a lull, he comes out with some stupid-assed random comment and starts us off talking again. He's an annoying little shit most of the time, but he isn't without his uses. About halfway through lunch, the familiar sound of Dad's pager beeping interrupts the peace. He hastily takes it out and gives me a sheepish look.

'Sorry, I really need to take this. Be right back. I won't be long, I promise.'

I have to laugh at how guilty he looks. 'It's cool, Dad.'

As Dad scurries off into the lobby to return his call, I remember his odd behaviour from earlier and take the opportunity to grill Ike.

'So, how **is** Mom?' I ask.

He shrugs, chewing on a French fry. 'Her usual delightful self.'

'Does she...say anything about me?'

'All the time. In fact, I'm sick of hearing about you,' he says jokingly. 'Seriously though, her and Dad have been arguing pretty much non-stop since you left.'

I cringe at that. 'What do you mean?'

'Well, she screams at him that this whole thing is his fault for not having a stronger masculine influence over you when you were growing up. And then he screams back that it's her fault for smothering you and for making you leave home...' He pauses then laughs loudly. 'It's fucking hilarious!'

Shit...I didn't even think about how this whole thing would affect my parents' relationship. Ike clocks my worried expression and pats my forearm sympathetically.

'Don't feel too bad though,' he says softly. 'It's not just about you. I think this whole situation has just brought a shitload of ill will to the surface for both of them. You've just been the straw to break the camel's back, I guess.'

I smile weakly. That makes me feel a little better. He has a good point – my parents aren't exactly a match made in heaven. I sometimes wonder how they even got together in the first place. Still, I can't be nice for Ike, having to live with that shit. I guess I didn't fully contemplate how this situation would affect him either.

'What about you?' I ask.

He cocks his head to one side curiously. 'What **about** me?'

'Are you getting by okay?'

'Oh, you know me,' he laughs. 'Everything's kosher when you're Ike Broflovski.'

I roll my eyes. 'Seriously?'

'I'm totally serious,' he nods. 'In fact, I have a faultless coping mechanism.'

I smirk – I can't wait to hear this one. 'What's that?'

'Whenever I feel myself starting to get frustrated with anything, I simply remind myself that I'm surrounded by mediocre beings that are intellectually inferior to me...' he winks coolly. 'And it's all good.'

Ike joins me as I laugh at this. If he's covering up any inner turmoil, he's doing a very good job of it. Just in case though...

'You know I'm still your big brother, right?' I say sincerely. 'And I always will be. You can always come to me if you need me. I'm still only a phone call away.'

Ike stares at me blankly for a moment and I swear I see him swallow painfully. He abruptly tears his eyes away from mine, laughing derisively.

'Urgh. Seriously, dude! Save your gayness for your man!'

I snigger and steal a French fry from his plate as he punches my arm lightly. Yeah, my brother is definitely an annoying little shit. But I wouldn't have him any other way.

* * * * *

After lunch, Dad dropped me off at Cartman's place. He offered to take us for a drive, but I refused saying that I still had homework to do for tomorrow. In actuality, I wanted to get home and check on Cartman. Kenny really pissed him off this morning and he probably needs someone to vent to. As I went to exit the car, I felt a hand on my wrist. I turned to see Dad looking at me with soft, kind eyes.

'You boys know you're the most important thing in the world to me, right?'

I blink stupidly. 'Huh?'

Dad sighs. 'I mean, I know I'm always swamped with work and I was never around all that much when you were growing up but-'

I suddenly think of what Ike said earlier. 'Dad, please-'

'Let me finish.'

He takes my hand in his, squeezing firmly. I glance into the backseat at a freaked out looking Ike, who raises an eyebrow at me. Dad smiles sadly, looking from me to Ike as he speaks.

'Listen, please believe me when I say that I really don't care if you don't want to be lawyers when you grow up, or if you don't want to marry women and have children. All I've ever wanted as a father was for my children to be happy. You deserve it. You're the greatest kids a dad could ever ask for. And there isn't a day goes by that I don't give thanks to Moses for blessing me with such wonderful sons. I love you both so much.'

Dude...I totally wasn't ready to get emotional today. A lump rises in my throat and tears sting the surface of my eyes. In the backseat, Ike sniffles and clears his throat.

'Jesus Christ, Dad. Don't **you** go getting gay on me too!'

I can't help bursting into laughter – it's either that or I burst into tears. I lean over to the driver's seat and hug my dad. He returns my embrace tightly.

'You too, Dad. Thanks. For everything.'

He pats my back gently, saying nothing. When I get out of the car, Ike is standing on the sidewalk waiting to hop into the front. He looks like he's about to hug me, but high-fives me instead. I grin at him and wave them off before heading up the path. I find the front door open and the second it closes behind me, I lean my back against it and let out a strangled sob. I feel really bad for my dad. I hope he realises that I **am** happy, and that none of the bad stuff that has happened has come about because of something that he's done wrong in the past. It's true that he's always been buried in work, but he only works to make money for his family, and to give me and Ike the best chance in life that he can. How can I resent him for that?

I take a few deep breaths to compose myself and wipe at my eyes as I walk further into the house. As totally gay as it sounds, I really need a hug right now.

'Cartman?' I call.

No reply. A quick look around tells me that there's nobody downstairs. There's no way he'll still be out playing at the courts. Where the hell is he? Maybe he's on his computer. I quickly ascend the staircase and push open the bedroom door. The warm smell of vanilla hits me before I've even set foot inside. The curtains are closed and its dark except for the dim glow of about a few dozen scented candles scattered across Cartman's desk and bedside table. The man himself sits on the bed, a wine glass in his hand and a Cheshire Cat grin spread across his face. He's wearing his bathrobe, apparently fresh from the shower. He gazes at me, gauging my reaction. My eyes scan the room a few more times before I finally make eye contact with him.

'Are you holding a séance or something?'

He chuckles softly, setting down his glass and slowly rising to his feet. The way he looks at me as he approaches makes me shudder with delight. He stands directly in front of me, so close that I can feel the heat from his face warming mine.

'It's not a séance, Kyle. It's just my little way of saying thank you.'

My brow furrows slightly as his lips gently brush against mine.

'Thank you?' I echo. 'For what?'

'For complimenting my manhood in front of that fucking turd Kenny earlier,' he murmurs, suddenly looking a little awkward. 'I mean...you didn't have to say anything.'

I shrug. 'He was being a total douche - of course I had to say something. You didn't have to do this.'

Cartman sighs and rolls his eyes. 'It's only a few candles, Jew! Besides, this is about as romantic as I'm ever gonna get...so you might as well enjoy it.'

His smirk abruptly becomes predatory as his hands grip at my waist. His lips meet my neck and I moan softly at the attention he starts to give me. Through half-lidded eyes I glance around the room again, breathing in the delicious smell of the candles. I seem to recall suggesting that we light candles once but he rebuffed the idea, declaring it to be too faggy. I guess since we're fully fledged fags now, the idea has become acceptable. Once Cartman gets bored of giving me a hickey, he takes my hands in his and leads me towards the bed. My ass scarcely has a chance to come into contact with the sheets before I'm pinned flat on my back and Cartman's lips are on mine. As he helps me out of my coat, I sigh deeply into his mouth - I feel like I've been waiting for this all day.

He reluctantly pulls away from me, moving to lay beside me. He reaches down the side of the bed and produces a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream. 'Drink?'

I raise an eyebrow. 'Where'd you get?'

'My mom. I told her I wanted to do something special to help you relax, since we're back at school tomorrow. So she gave me a load of candles, the house to ourselves and this.'

He waves the bottle around demonstratively and retrieves an empty wine glass from the bedside table. He half fills it with the creamy alcohol and when he holds out to me, I stare at it like it's something from out of space.

'Dude, it's the middle of the afternoon,' I say, trying not to sound too reproachful.

Cartman snorts. 'So what? Kenny's family start drinking from the moment that they wake up. Live a little, Jew.'

He swirls the thick liquid under my nose. I actually smells quite nice. Even so...

'I dunno...'

Suddenly Cartman gasps, pressing the palm of his free hand to his cheek melodramatically.

'Oh, I'm sorry! How could I forget?' He smirks. 'You can't handle whiskey, can you?'

That fat asshole! He bursts out laughing when I huffily snatch the wine glass from his hand and take a long sip. It's at that moment that it occurs to me that the last time I even touched alcohol was the night we first got together. I smile fondly at the memories of that night. I guess I owe a lot to alcohol and its inhibition-releasing qualities. Cartman retrieves his own glass from the bedside table and settles down beside me.

'How'd lunch go anyway?' he asks.

I nod enthusiastically. 'It went well. You should come next time. It sounds like my dad would like to get to know you better, and I think you and Ike would really get along.'

Cartman raises an eyebrow at this suggestion. He looks a little conflicted, but seems to be considering it. In conclusion, he shrugs his shoulders casually.

'I guess...' he smirks. 'It had better be a damn good lunch if you're expecting me to withstand the company of **three** Jews for a whole afternoon though.'

I roll my eyes - I might have guessed that he'd say something like that. I set my glass down on the bedside table and gaze up at the ceiling, sighing deeply.

'I'm kinda worried about Ike.'

'You're **always** worried about Ike.'

I ignore his bored tone. 'He told me that my parents have been yelling at each other non-stop since I left. He says he's dealing with it okay, but I'm not sure whether to believe him.'

Cartman is silent for a moment. 'Hey, maybe they'll get a divorce!' he chirps brightly. 'Wouldn't that just be so cool?'

'No, it wouldn't be cool!'

My response comes automatically, though in all honestly I'm not entirely sure that I completely disagree with him... Cartman turns onto his side to face me, reaching up with his free hand to twirl a strand of my hair around his finger.

'You worry too damn much about everything and everyone, Broflovski,' he murmurs softly. 'Think about it - your brother is both a fucking genius and a hockey obsessive. If anyone knows the best way to cope with a couple of brain-dead douchebags fighting over nothing, it's him.'

I smile faintly – I guess he has a point. He continues stroking my hair and I lean into his touch. We lay there silently for a moment, just enjoying the ambience. I pay particular attention to one of the candles nearest to us, feeling totally mesmerised by its blinking sinuous movements. I soon find myself unable to resist and I reach out and take the candle from the bedside table. I watch the flame a moment longer before casually caressing it with my fingertips. I let out a blissful sigh as the intense heat scorches my skin. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Cartman watching me curiously.

'What is it about pain that does it for you so much anyway?' he asks suddenly.

'You've slept with me this long and you still don't get it?'

He shrugs. 'I know you like it, so I give it to you. I don't pretend to understand why though.'

'Well, why does inflicting pain on **me** do it for **you**?' I counter.

'I guess because I feel...powerful,' he says, smirking. 'Like I'm in complete control of you and what you're feeling. But that's giving it. What makes receiving it so good?'

'It enhances the sexual experience.'

'How?' Cartman scoffs. 'Pain hurts. Hurting isn't supposed to be good.'

I grin, placing the candle back on the bedside table. 'Oh, it can be nice sometimes...'

In one fluid motion I roll on top of him, push open his bathrobe to expose his chest and firmly bite down on his nipple.

'Ow! Jesus Christ, Kyle!'

I laugh loudly when he jumps away from me, pulling his robe closed defensively. He looks a little disturbed when I crawl on top of him again.

'You're way too sensitive,' I purr.

I kiss his cheek to reassure him, sliding my hands under his bathrobe and tenderly stroking his chest with my fingertips. The smile he gives me is all the invitation I need to capture his lips in a passionate kiss. My tongue wrestles and entwines with his until he's moaning into my mouth. Since he's so nicely distracted, I take the opportunity to slowly slide his robe open. I don't often go for being sexually dominant, but I'm out to prove a point today. Ensuring that he's trapped beneath me, I pull my mouth away from his and sit back, straddling his hips. He watches me cautiously, looking very perturbed when I reach for the candle on the bedside table. I catch his eye and wink at him, mentally surveying his chest as I tilt the candle to one side.

'Don't, Kyle!' he says sternly. 'I mean it!'

Blatantly ignoring his protests, I carefully pour a few droplets of hot candle wax onto his chest.

'Ah, fucking shit!' He hisses in pain, flicking the now cool and solid wax away from his skin.

I roll my eyes at his over the top reaction. 'Cartman, you are such a fucking sissy.'

'At least blow the damn candle out!' he whines. 'That was way too fucking hot!'

I smile happily - at least he's not completely opposed to the idea. I do as instructed, and hold the candle up higher so that the wax isn't as hot when it hits his skin. He takes a deep breath and nods, prompting me to dribble a small trail of wax into a circular pattern around his left nipple. He flinches violently as the wax smoothes out and starts to cool on his skin.

'Ooh! Fuck!'

I could be wrong, but I could have sworn that I detected traces of pleasure in that moan. I quickly peel away the dried wax, revealing a rough circle of slightly reddened skin. I alternate between kissing the glowing area and tracing it my tongue. I can feel Cartman's eyes on me as I work, and I hear his heart pounding in his chest beneath me. Once his skin is slick with saliva, I gently blow cool air onto the red circle. I flick his nipple with my tongue and take the pink bud into my mouth, grazing it lightly with my teeth. I look up just in time to see Cartman throwing his head back against the pillows and gasping sharply.

'Ah, Lord! Sweet monkey crap, that's nice!'

I giggle at his phrasing. 'I told you so.'

He lifts his head and manages to shoot me a half-assed glare. He really hates it when I say that. Eager to get back into his good books, I tug his bathrobe rest of the way open and find that he's naked and as hard as a rock. I eye him hungrily and lick my lips as he glances down at his erect manhood in concern.

'The cock and balls are off limits, Jew.'

I pout playfully. 'To me or the wax?'

He scowls. 'Seriously, don't-'

I cut him off, rolling my eye. 'Yeah yeah, I won't. I promise.'

He seems to relax as I slide down his body and kneel in between his legs. I dribble a little wax onto the inside of his thighs and listen to him hiss pleasurably as it cools against his skin. As I peel the wax away, something catches my attention on the floor. It's an ice bucket that Cartman was using to keep the bottle of Bailey's cool. Perfect! I reach down and pick out a small ice cube. I gently swirl the ice over his inflamed skin, making him convulse slightly as extreme cold contrasts with extreme heat. I decide to push him further, leaning forward to gently tease his balls with my lips and the tip of my tongue. The pitch of his voice rapidly ascends, even more so when I start lazily jacking his cock with my free hand as I continue icing his crimson skin. Whoever said men are incapable of multi-tasking?

When the ice cube has melted into nothing, I pull away from him. I think I've more than proved my point – he definitely enjoyed that. A bubble of glee bursts inside me when I hear his disappointed groan. He was right – being in total control of somebody else's pleasure **does** feel good. I crawl up the length of his body and straddle him again, pressing a firm kiss to his lips. Goddamn, he looks so hot beneath me, all breathless and flushed just like when he was playing at the courts earlier.

'Good, huh?' I ask softly.

He doesn't reply. Instead, he grasps my hair and pulls me down into a hard crushing kiss. I'll take that as a yes. I groan appreciatively at his rough treatment, my already throbbing cock threatening to burst through my jeans. Cartman's other large hand grabs my ass, pulling my hips down into his as he grinds against me forcefully. He practically tears my clothes off with such overwhelming passion that I'm hardly even aware that he's doing it. Once I'm naked, he wraps his arms around my waist and nips at my neck. I sigh deeply and close my eyes as his teeth graze my skin, running my hands over his gorgeous shoulders. He quickly nibbles his way up to my ear.

'Fuck me,' he growls softly.

I pull back and meet his gaze. He looks serious. 'I've been good enough?'

He nods, grinning. 'Oh, you've been **very** good.'

My smile mirrors his as I slowly climb off him. 'In that case, flip over onto your front.'

He immediately does what I tell him and I feel my hardened cock twitch. I'm starting to quite like being the one in control. I run my hands over his broad back and can feel him arch into my touch. I reach over to the bedside table for another candle, blow it out and drop a thick trail of wax in a straight line down the centre of his back. He hisses and writhes beneath me, leaving cracks in the drying wax as he does so. Once again, I peel away the wax and kiss the reddened area. Just then, I remember the chilled alcohol on the bedside table. I grab my glass and pour a little of the Bailey's in between his shoulder blades. I sit back and enjoy listening to him gasp as it slowly trickles down his spine and pools at his lower back. I start there, suckling at the little well of alcohol then trailing my tongue up over the contours of his spine.

Once I've licked my way back down, I don't stop at his lower back. I trail my tongue over the crack of his ass, squeezing the two large globes of flesh in my palms and gently prising them apart. He rises up onto his knees and starts to pant heavily as my tongue strokes and probes his puckered entrance. This isn't anywhere near as bad as I thought it would be – it just tastes a little stale. Fortunately, Cartman's just showered and the sweet taste of the Bailey's lingering in my mouth is certainly helping too. Not like I give a fuck anyway - any kind of taste in my mouth is worth it, just to hear him getting off on what I'm doing.

When I'm finished my oral investigation of his ass, I reach into the bedside table drawer and find a condom and some lube. I tear the condom open using my teeth and one hand while the other hand works on lubricating Cartman's entrance. I grin when I feel his muscles contracting around my fingers, his hips involuntarily bucking upwards begging for me to go deeper. I withdraw my fingers and roll the condom over my cock, quickly slicking myself up and poising myself to penetrate the moaning writhing body beneath me.

'You ready?' I whisper huskily.

'Uh-huh,' Cartman wheezes.

I grasp his chunky hips in my hands and slide into him slowly. Since this is only his second time I move in and out of him gently, listening carefully to any changes to his moans and gasps. Goddamn, I'd almost forgotten how fucking good his tight ass feels around my cock. After a few moments, I feel him pushing back against me and increase my speed. I notice the red trail down his spine and rake my fingernails over it. He gasps and shivers beneath me - so much for pain not being a good thing. I wish I could see his facial expression, but listening to him moan contentedly as I fuck him is good enough for now. His internal muscles clamp down on my cock and I have to bite back a howl of ecstasy.

'Goddamn it!' I growl. 'I love fucking your fat ass!'

'Fucking...chubby...chaser!' he pants.

I chuckle breathlessly, rewarding that insult with a few hard thrusts. He yelps in response, but continues pushing back against me so I'm assuming it was a good yelp. I can tell by the way he's breathing that he's close to climax, so I quickly reach over to the bedside table for another candle. I blow it out and slowly dribble the hot wax across the sensitive skin of Cartman's lower back. He cries out and takes a long hissing breath in as I set the candle aside. I barely have a chance to reach around him and start jacking his cock when he starts to cum. I grip his cock and milk him dry, catching a small amount of his seed in my hand as the rest splashes out across his discarded bathrobe.

I continue to thrust into him as he catches his breath beneath me. I release his cock from my grasp, bringing my hand to my face and sucking my cum-coated fingers clean. The familiar tang of his seed makes my taste-buds tingle, and I bite down on my lip hard as I explode inside him. I hold myself steady against him as my orgasm rocks my body, pulling out as soon as I'm able to see straight again. We both collapse on the bed on our backs, panting hard. As I lay there, I reach down to remove my condom and feel something soft and crumbly clinging to my crotch area.

'Aww, dude!'

Cartman glances over at me. 'What?'

'I got wax in my pubes!'

Cartman can barely find the breath to snigger as he rolls to the other side of the bed to avoid the damp patch he's created. He grunts slightly as I follow and flop down against his chest. We lay there listening to our racing hearts slow down. I feel Cartman's arms encase me and I nuzzle into his chest tiredly. If his intention was to relax us this afternoon, he certainly got his wish. I feel positively spent. Something still bothers me though...

'Hey Cartman?' I ask softly.

'Mm?'

'How come what Kenny said earlier got to you so much?'

He's silent for a moment until he finally releases a deep frustrated sigh.

'It wasn't really **what** he said,' he explains slowly. 'It was what he was implying. I don't need the fact that I'm dating someone out of my league fucking highlighted, especially not by a pussy-obsessed fuck-nut like Kenny McCormick.'

He sounds upset again. Perhaps I shouldn't have mentioned it. I look up to see him glaring a hole into the ceiling. I won't mention Kenny again, but I think this 'out of my league' bullshit needs addressing now.

'Cartman, I'm not-'

I don't get a chance to finish. Cartman turns his face towards me and clamps his mouth over mine. He groans at the taste of his seed on my lips and deepens the kiss, his tongue thoroughly exploring the inside of my mouth. I caress his cheek in my palm, suckling gently on his tongue and encouraging him to kiss me harder. He abruptly breaks off our clinch, looking me in the eye.

'Before you start, I don't mean it in a self-deprecating way,' he says firmly. 'I used to, but the fact that we clearly belong together has been enough to convince me that I'm more than good enough for you.'

I smile warmly. He took the words right out of my mouth. He lowers his eyes coyly before breaking into a smug grin.

'I guess I can understand why other people would think otherwise though. Not that I give a fuck about what they think. If they wanna waste their time being jealous that I'm cool and sexy enough to score a fine-assed hottie like you, then that's their fucking damage.'

I grin as he captures my lips in yet another searing kiss. Now that's more like the Cartman I know! He trails his fingertips down my sides and squeezes my ass firmly as I kiss along his jaw-line and nip firmly at his earlobe.

'So...feel like fucking until the sun comes up?' I murmur.

He sniggers. 'It hasn't even gone down yet, dumbass.'

'Neither have you,' I growl, gesturing downwards. 'You're the bitch today so get to work, fatass.'

His eyes widen considerably when I call him a bitch, but my hardening cock insistently prodding at his inner thigh seems to win him over.

'Bossy fucking Jew,' he mumbles as he starts kissing his way down my torso.

I have a feeling we're both gonna be pretty damn tired for school tomorrow.

* * * * *

_I hope you enjoyed that. I tend to be a perfectionist so when I'm back to full strength, I'll quite possibly read over this chapter and decide I don't like certain parts and rewrite them. I'll let you know if I do, just in case anyone is interested in the revised version. Anyway, I know a few people have said that they really like Ike and Kenny in this story, so hopefully those people have had a double whammy of pleasure this time around. Or triple whammy, if you count the candle scene! _

_This sounds really stupid and ignorant, but does everyone know what Bailey's Irish Cream is? I live in the UK where it's pretty popular, but I have no idea if the rest of the world actually knows what it is. If you don't, take my word for it – it's good for licking off skin. ;)_

_Moving on, Chapter 22 is gonna involve our boys interacting with Stan and Wendy, and some discussions of the paternal nature. And probably more filthy dirty hot monkey sex! :D I'm quite looking forward to writing the next chapter, because I'm actually pretty fond of Wendy and find her interesting to write. _

_(I'd just like to indulge myself in a small rant and say right now that if there's one pairing that I cannot abide, it's WendyXCartman! No offense if you're a Candy lover, but that pairing is to me what kryptonite is to Superman – I find it fucking repulsive, and that's putting it lightly. To borrow a phrase, I hate it so much that it gives me energy! It's just not right, man! Anyway, rant over - my point is I'm looking forward to having Wendy feature in the next chapter. :D)_

_Anyway, thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought of it and hopefully I'll be seeing you again very soon._

_DD_

_xx_


	22. Dynasty

_Author Notes: Hey dudes! Thanks to all of those that read/reviewed the last chapter – always appreciated! This is chapter 22 – I didn't expect it to be so freakin' long, but I'm pretty happy with how it's turned out. Enjoy! :D_

**Chapter 22 – Dynasty**

I can't believe it's been a whole month since I moved in with Cartman. The time has flown by so quickly, it feels like yesterday. It's most likely because the cynic in me didn't believe that we'd make it as far as the first week without killing each other. Sure, we've had a couple of arguments that have escalated above our usual level of bantering, but they've always been over stupid little things. Like my annoying obsession with hanging wet towels over chairs to dry, or his dangerous habit of leaving pairs of shoes on the staircase. But the second Cartman has me pinned to the nearest wall with his lips on mine or vice versa, the stupid little things don't seem to matter anymore. There hasn't been a single night that I've slept in my own room yet. I'll take that as a good sign.

I haven't been anywhere near my old home since the day I left - or anywhere near Mom, for that matter. It makes me sad sometimes, but truth be told I don't particularly miss her. And since she's made no effort to contact me, I'll assume that the feeling is mutual. I just keep telling myself that I don't need her anyway. And I don't...

And besides, since I left home I've been spending a lot more 'quality time' with Dad and Ike than I ever have, and I see them at least once a week. Cartman has even joined us on a few occasions, which was awesome. As predicted, he gets along brilliantly with my brother, and he hasn't let a single anti-Semitic comment slip out in front of my dad yet. Of course, he bitches and whines about having to spend time with my 'Jew family' afterwards, but I can tell he really enjoys himself. I could just be overanalysing things again, but it's almost as if him spending time with my family and me spending time with Liane in turn has brought us closer together as a couple – like we're more of a part of each other's lives because of it.

The buzz about us at school died down pretty quickly since everyone's main focus lately has been turned to school work and revision for final exams. Cartman in particular has been cramming like a maniac, mainly because he wants his final grades to be good enough for us to be able to go to the same college. Even if he doesn't get the wonderful grades he's aspiring towards, I'll still go wherever he gets in. Hell, I'll even go to a community college as long as it runs the psych courses that I need. I'm not one of these name-dropping dickholes who'll say 'Ooh, I went to Yardale where I had a 4-0 grade point average.' Of course, I haven't told Cartman this. If his desire to be with me is motivating him to push himself academically, I don't see any reason to break his pace.

The only person who still seems to be making a big deal out of Cartman and I being together is Wendy. After multiple suggestions from her via Stan that Cartman and I hang out with them as couples, I finally caved and agreed to a 'study date' over at Stan's. Cartman wasn't exactly thrilled about the idea, but the promise that I'd find a way to make it up to him later was enough to coax him into having a disinclined change of heart. It wasn't, however, enough to make him put a smile on his face as we made our way over to Stan's place. In a pathetic display that one would expect from a small child, Cartman huffed and sulked the entire ten minute walk. Bottom lip protruding and heavy feet dragging, I'm sure he'd look hilarious if he wasn't so sincerely pissed off with the situation.

'As if we don't have better things to do on a Thursday evening than study,' he grumbles. 'You do realise that I'm missing 'American Gladiators' for this, don't you? And by the way, you'd better not fuck off into a cosy private little corner with that jock pussy and leave me alone with that bra-burning pot-smoking ho. I swear, if you do, I'll-'

'I won't,' I say, rolling my eyes. 'Just stop complaining. And by the way, thanks for the mental image of Wendy without a bra on.'

I smirk wryly as he winces, wrinkling his nose at the thought. 'What the hell is a 'study date' anyway? Which fucking dork came up with that lame-assed idea?'

I frown. '**I** did!'

He clucks his tongue. 'Figures.'

I shake my head at his sourness. 'How come you hate Wendy so much anyway?'

'I don't **hate** her,' he scoffs. 'I regard her with the same indifference that I do everybody else...' He glances at me and smirks. 'Present company excepted, of course. The only person I truly hate is you.'

'I'm honoured,' I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes yet again. 'If you don't hate her, why are you so opposed to hanging out with her?'

'Because she likes the sound of her own voice too goddamn much.'

'You used to say that about me.'

'That's different. When **you** get a bug up your ass about something, it's relevant to the situation at hand. For example, say I was to make the statement 'Gingers have no souls.' Your typical response would be to get all pissed off and tell me why I'm wrong in your usual enraged and passionate manner. There's a purpose to your bitching. And I mean a purpose other than to get me all hot in the biscuit.'

He winks flirtatiously and trails a hand up my spine, tickling the hair on the back of my neck with his fingertips. I swear all this eye rolling I'm doing today is gonna make me dizzy. He takes my reaction as a non-verbal cue to continue.

'Wendy, on the other hand, doesn't even wait for a reason to get pissed off. Instead, she takes it upon herself to bring all of the many plights and woes of the world around us to everyone's attention, regardless of how irrelevant to the current subject matter they may be. In other words, the purpose of **her **bitching is **always **to make everyone else feel guilty about being born more fortunate than others. And I don't know about you, but I could do without hearing that shit.'

'She's just a charitable person.'

'She's a fucking hippie.'

I sigh helplessly, running a hand through my hair. 'She just likes to spread awareness, that's all.'

'Awareness of what?' Cartman splutters. 'The glaringly fucking obvious? Everybody knows fucked up shit happens all over the world all of the time, and there's fuck all anyone can do about it. Call me selfish if you want, but I'm of the opinion that charity starts at home. I'd rather sort out my own shit before extending a helping hand to some poor-assed motherfucker in Ethiopia whose probably gonna die of AIDS next week anyway.'

'Okay! Point taken!' I hold up my hands to silence his tirade, cringing at his blunt phrasing. 'I get it, dude. Wendy **can** be annoying but can you please just try to be civil towards her, just for a couple of hours? Is that too much to ask?'

He scowls, muttering something incoherent as Stan's house comes into view. I'm a little worried about how this is going to go down. I may have managed to convince Cartman to agree to coming here tonight, but I'm no Cesar Milan – all the sweet talking in the world isn't going to help me to control his infamous abhorrent behaviour. If Cartman starts being rude to Wendy, Stan's bound to get pissed off. They already have heat with each other from the whole 'Cartman blaming Stan for making me homeless' thing – I really don't want them to have any excuse to blow up at each other.

Before we head up Stan's driveway, I stop and turn to Cartman, wrapping my arms around his neck. He looks a little startled, clearly not expecting my embrace, but he recovers quickly and pulls me against him. I melt against his body, looking up at him with the soft pleading eyes that I always use when I want my way with him. They don't always work, but it's worth a try.

'Promise me you'll behave?'

I accentuate my point by nuzzling my face into his chest. Goddamn it, I hate the fucking shirt that he's wearing and he knows it. It's this thick red plaid thing, and it makes him look like a lumber jack. I think he's worn it deliberately to piss me off for making him do this. His chest heaves with a huge sigh as he speaks.

'I promise, Kyle,' he says drearily. 'But you're gonna have to work damn hard to make it up to me later.'

I can hear in the lascivious smile in his voice as he gives my denim-clad ass a firm squeeze.

'I promise I'll make it up to you and then some. Just...behave.'

He nods apathetically as I release him from my embrace and lead the way up to Stan's house. His mom promptly answers the door. Upon seeing us, she breaks into an unnecessarily large smile. A lot of people have been doing that to us lately. It could just be me being paranoid, but it's as if they're trying to say 'I'm smiling at you like this because I don't want you to think that I have a problem with what you are.' I'm not saying Mrs Marsh has a problem with gays - in fact I'm one hundred percent sure that she doesn't. However, I don't understand why she seems to think that she needs to alter her behaviour towards us. I have no doubt that she means well, but all the fakery is starting to get a little annoying.

'Oh, hi boys,' she chirps. 'Stanley's upstairs. I'll let him know that you're here.'

She calls Stan's name as she beckons us into the living room. We're greeted with the familiar sight of Mr Marsh sprawled out on the couch, a beer can in his hand and a couple more littering the floor at his feet. He turns his head towards us slowly, blinking at us with bleary eyes. I've been a little wary of seeing Stan's dad since the news broke about me and Cartman. Apparently, he was full of questions about whether or not I'd ever 'tried anything funny' with Stan. I admit that I felt a little offended by this at first – just because I'm gay, it doesn't mean that I'm gonna make a play for every guy I see. But I guess considering that even as most recently as a few months ago, Stan and I used to share a bed whenever we slept over at each other's houses, it was a reasonable enough assumption to make.

I'm a little freaked out at how Stan's dad stares at us wordlessly for what feels like forever, and I can tell by the way Cartman clears his throat that it's making him uncomfortable too. I notice that Mr Marsh's eyes have gradually glazed over, a sure sign that he's carefully considering what to say to us. I jump a little when he finally speaks.

'So....you guys are gay, huh.'

I just love how he made that sound more like a statement than a question. I manage to muster a polite smile while Cartman rolls his eyes in the direction of the staircase, no doubt waiting for Stan to come and rescue us. Right on cue, he appears at the top of the stairs.

'Dad, leave them alone,' he says flatly before grinning at us. 'Come on, dudes. Wendy's already here.'

'Later, Mr Marsh,' I say hastily, scrambling for the staircase.

'Yeah,' Cartman snorts, following me. 'Drink responsibly.'

As we climb the stairs, I notice Stan visibly cringe at Cartman's remark and can't help but feel sympathetic. To be honest, I always had a secret appreciation for Randy Marsh as I was growing up. It was nice for there to be a parent in South Park who was even more ridiculous, over the top and embarrassing than my mother. When we reach the bedroom, we find Wendy sitting at Stan's desk flicking through her chemistry textbook. She's dressed in adherence to her usual casual demure style, sporting purple jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. Actually, I think its Stan's hooded sweatshirt. She wears his clothes quite often. I don't think he ever wears hers though. At least, I hope not.

'Hey Wendy,' I greet her.

She glances up and smiles pleasantly. 'Hi Kyle.'

Her smile seems to dull slightly as her gaze shifts to Cartman. He nods curtly in recognition of her presence. That's probably the best I'm going to get out of him for now. I think Wendy can see she's going to have to be the one to make the effort here, and acts accordingly.

'Nice to see you, Eric,' she says with forced courtesy. 'Have you lost weight?'

He shrugs. 'A little. I put it down to the stress of dating a Jew.'

I guess he thinks I deserved that. He's such an asswipe sometimes. Stan appears to be using the only other chair in the room, so Cartman decides to pounce onto Stan's bed, lounging back on it as if it were his own. I push his feet out of the way and sit at the foot of the bed. The four of us chat for a little while before getting started. Did I say four? I meant three, as Cartman's only contribution to the conversation is listlessly kicking me in the ass every now and then. I wish he'd make more of an effort, but I suppose the fact that he's saying nothing is marginally better than him saying something inappropriate.

We eventually decide to get to work, so I pull out a social studies paper that I've been working on. The subject matter of the paper is a little trite, so it doesn't take me long before my disinterested mind wanders and I glance over at Cartman. Much to my surprise, he actually appears to be studying. Unless he's doing that thing Kenny does where he hides a comic or PlayBoy inside his textbook. Nah – he looks like he's concentrating too hard for it to be a comic, and Cartman probably wouldn't use a copy of PlayBoy to wipe his ass with. Despite his intense focus on the book in front of him, he looks so comfortable and relaxed. His reclining body looks so warm and inviting, just like a big cosy armchair. I wish I could just snuggle up to him and fall asleep with my head on his shoulder...

God, I sound like a complete fucking sissy! I shake my head in disgust at myself and try to shift my focus back to my paper. It's probably best that I don't stare at him too long anyway. If he catches me doing it, he'll start thinking that I find him more interesting than school work, which is true but I would hate to push his ego into overdrive like that.

My train of thought is broken once again when I hear voices. Cartman has sat up and is helping Stan with his history homework. Wait a second – that didn't sound quite right, did it? Cartman, helping Stan? And with homework? Then again, this particular homework assignment is regarding his specialist subject – Nazi Germany.

'So, why did Hitler hate the Jews so much anyway?'

Stan's eyes seem to subconsciously flicker in my direction as this question passes his lips, as do Cartman's. I casually turn back to my paper, resigning myself to trusting my boyfriend not to say anything untoward.

'Well...that's a question with many answers, Stan,' he starts slowly. 'One of the most prominent reasons was that Jews and numerous other minority groups didn't fit in with the Nazi vision of an Aryan German race. However, why Hitler had a problem with Jews in particular is open for debate. Some say that he is was because he blamed the Jews for Germany losing World War I. Others say it was because the Jews took all the good jobs and Hitler theorised that they were going to get too much power and take over...'

Okay, he hasn't said anything worth getting mad about just yet – he's just stating facts. Despite the objectionable subject matter, I love listening to him talk like this. He sounds so knowledgeable and coherent – I guess only a nerd like me could find those qualities in someone's voice attractive! Interestingly enough, Cartman actually confessed to me a while ago that he never really became fanatical about Hitler because he was 'the ultimate Jew hating machine', like he used to profess. Instead, his fascination with Hitler came about because of the incredible impact he made on the world he lived in, and the tremendous amount of power that he commanded. I guess that would make sense and on that basis, I suppose I can live with having a lover who is obsessed with a Nazi dictator – just as long as he never genuinely adopts the same belief system as that psychotic genocidal piece of shit, of course.

'...and then, there's the theory that Hitler never hated the Jews at all, that he merely used them as a scapegoat, as the events occurring at the time allowed him to do so.'

'So, would it be accurate to say that jealousy of the Jews was a factor too?' Stan asks.

'Quite possibly,' Cartman says with a nod. 'That's a common theory too. I personally believe it was a combination of many factors. But whatever the actual convictions behind his hateful feelings were, they were strong enough to make him rule Germany is the way that he did.'

Wendy rolls her eyes. 'If his convictions were **that** strong, he would have faced losing the war like a man instead of committing suicide like a coward.'

I notice Cartman's eyes flash with a fleeting look of anger. To his credit, he doesn't let it show and takes a short deep breath before opening his mouth.

'Perhaps,' he says evenly. 'But let's focus on one thing at a time. We aren't discussing Hitler's suicide right now.'

'But how come he killed himself though?' Stan asks.

Cartman smirks. 'Hey, you would have done too if you'd received a gas bill like his.'

'Cartman!'

The harshness of my voice seems to startle him. I notice Stan and Wendy cringing too, though it's more likely to be because of Cartman's repulsive joke than my shrieking. He eyes my scowling face nervously. In fairness, the punch-line of the joke was probably just his kneejerk reaction to Stan's question. Regardless, an apology wouldn't go amiss.

'Err...sorry?' he offers lamely.

The sheepish look in his eyes speaks volumes about his sincerity, but what he said sounded so half-assed that I'm not even nearly satisfied.

'You promised me, no more Holocaust jokes!'

'I said I was sorry!' he exclaims, rolling his eyes exasperatedly. 'Jeez, you Jews have no sense of humour.'

I have the feeling I'll be sleeping in my own room tonight.

'I'm warning you!' I snap.

'What, now I can't make **any** Jew jokes at all? Why don't you just cut my balls off?'

'Don't tempt me, fatass!'

'Jew!'

He emphasizes his insult with a sharp kick to my ass. I swat at him in retaliation, but as he moves to avoid my attack, the palm of my hand collides with the pointed tip of his pencil. And no, that isn't a euphemism – I mean the kind of pencil that you write with. I jump back in fright, yelling a random swear word though I'm entirely not sure which one. Stan and Wendy just sit and watch us in silence as Cartman laughs riotously at my angry pouting face. I draw my stabbed hand to my chest, nursing it protectively with my other. I admit that I'm being a tad melodramatic - it didn't hurt, it just startled me.

'Ha ha! Nice aim!' Cartman sniggers. 'I think you missed me though!'

'Up yours, assface!'

He ignores my lame response, huffing in annoyance. 'Weak, Kyle! How the hell am I supposed to write with this now?'

When he waves the blunted tip in my face, I grab for the pencil and hurl it to the other side of the room. Wow, we must look so grown up right now. I glance at the black mark on my palm.

'Way to give me lead-poisoning, r-tard!' I mumble.

'Oh, whatever!' he grunts. 'I bet it didn't even break your skin. Give it here!'

He captures my wrist in his strong grasp, yanking my hand up to his face to closer inspect my wound. Of course, the rest of my body has to follow my hand and I end up practically sitting in his lap. God, did he smell this gorgeous earlier? I let him rub the pencil mark from my hand, enjoying the friction of his fingertips roughly brushing against my skin. He locks eyes with me, twisting my wrist towards me so that I can see my palm.

'See?' he says huskily. 'You're fine.'

I don't even bother looking down at my hand – I'm way too distracted by his intense chocolate eyes. He notices the look I'm giving him and smiles smugly. I'm vaguely aware that I'm smiling back, too lost in the warmth of his body heat to be fully aware of what my own body is doing. I feel that familiar overwhelming urge to kiss him but just as I'm about to lean in, I remember that we're not actually alone. On the other side of the room, Stan is cowering behind his history text book. Wendy, on the other hand, is quite openly staring at us. She catches herself and gives us an apologetic shrug.

'Sorry, but I still find this whole thing of you guys being together fascinating,' she says. 'I just can't believe that you hid it for so long. I couldn't have kept a secret that big to myself. Sneaking around like that must have been so enthralling.'

I glance back at Cartman, who grins and squeezes my hand tightly before releasing it. I move back from him a little way so that he can get comfortable again, but still stay in what Stan would describe as an 'unnecessarily close proximity' to him. Wendy watches us with an intrigued smile. I guess we should respond to her comments. I suppose we've never really talked to anyone about how we kept our relationship secret – not even Kenny has asked about it.

'Well, we mainly just made excuses to hole up in Cartman's room,' I begin. 'The rest of the time, we just kinda stole moments together whenever we could.'

'Yeah, it was pretty sweet,' Cartman grins. 'I even gave Kyle a handjob in Stan's living room once.'

Stan's horrified face pops up from behind his history book. 'You did what?!'

I have a theory that Cartman is lacking the mechanism in his brain that allows him to think before he speaks.

'D-dude, he's just kidding,' I stammer with a fake laugh.

When Stan slowly ducks back behind his textbook, I give Cartman a scolding look which Wendy catches. She doesn't say anything but grins at us playfully.

'Anyway, I bet doing stuff like that was so thrilling,' she gushes. 'I'd love to have that kind of excitement in my life.'

Stan suddenly reappears from behind his book, looking indignant. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

Wendy shrugs. 'I don't mean anything by it, Stan. Our sex life is fine. I just think that we could be a little more creative and spontaneous, is all.'

'If you're stuck for inspiration, you should talk to Kyle sometime,' Cartman sniggers. 'He's got a whole plethora of perverted thoughts floating around in that pretty little ginger head of his. It's one of my favourite things about him.'

'Well, I guess it's good that you love him for what goes on in his head,' Wendy jokes.

'Oh, yeah!' Cartman chuckles. 'I just love his **head**. He's got the greatest **head** ever.'

'Dude...'

Stan looks a little queasy all of a sudden. When we're feeling particularly cruel, Cartman and I have a game that we play with Stan where we try to make him squirm, whether it's by inappropriately touching in front of him or making sure that he overhears us saying something dirty to each other. He's actually grown immune to seeing us kiss by now, which I didn't expect to ever happen. So lately we've started pushing the envelope a little further. I trail my hand carelessly over Cartman's chest and toy with his top button. I'm almost sure I can hear Stan's stomach gurgle.

'Yeah!' I say enthusiastically. 'My **head**'s the best! So what were you thinking of, Wendy? S&M? Bondage? Ooh, do either of you have any fetishes that can be embellished on?'

'Kyle...' Stan growls.

I grin. 'You know, Cartman **really** likes it when I-'

'Dude, please!'

'Stan likes to sniff my shoes after I've been wearing them all day,' Wendy says absently. 'Does that count as a fetish?'

There's a moment of silence which is broken when Cartman starts howling with laughter. I can't help but join in, especially after seeing Stan's facial expression.

'Wendy!' he shrieks, clearly mortified. 'Can we change the subject, please?'

Wendy shrugs at his appalled tone. 'I think it's a good idea to discuss sex with other couples, Stan. It's important to get alternative perspectives and be open to new ideas. Don't you want to be able to one day tell our children how we lived our lives to the fullest in our youth?'

'I hardly think discussing our sex life with our children is appropriate. Or anyone else for that matter.'

He turns his attention back to his textbook, red faced. The poor guy looks so embarrassed. It's not like Stan's a prude or anything – although I wouldn't have had him pegged as a foot fetishist. I just think he's more about action and less about words, if you catch my drift. His head suddenly snaps up again and he stares at Wendy, wide eyed.

'Wait a second – 'children'?! What children?'

Wendy looks a little hurt by his outburst. 'Don't you ever think about the children that we'll have in the future, Stan?'

Cartman sniggers as Stan's mouth silently opens and closes over and over as he tries to formulate an answer. For every second that passes, Wendy's eyes narrow a little more. I hear Stan swallow hard.

'Erm...'

'Aww! Come on, Stanley! You're killing her here!' Cartman taunts. 'The poor girl's probably already got the names picked out and everything.'

Stan raises an eyebrow at his girlfriend. 'Have you?'

Wendy nods like it's the most obvious thing in the world. 'Abigail for a girl, Timothy for a boy.'

'Pft!' Cartman scoffs. 'I'm **so** glad that I dig dudes.'

'Well, haven't you guys discussed the prospect of having children together one day?' Wendy asks.

'Not really,' Cartman shrugs. 'See, Kyle's lacking...that little something, you know?'' He looks up at the ceiling in mock display of thought. 'What do you call it? ...Oh yeah, a uterus! So it's kinda out of our reach.'

'Hey!' I frown. 'Why would **I** be the one who needed the uterus?'

'Are you kidding me?' Cartman snorts. 'I'm not ruining my hot body with a load of unsightly pregnancy weight.'

'I know you couldn't have childrentogether biologically, Eric,' Wendy explains patiently. 'But there's other options you could consider, like surrogacy. Or better yet, adoption. You know, there are thousands of homeless children out there who have been neglected and abandoned by their natural parents who need happy loving homes to grow up in.'

Oh, Wendy – you were doing so well. I can practically hear Cartman's teeth grinding together. I clear my throat before she can indulge herself any further in her off-topic rant.

'I think we're getting a little ahead of ourselves,' I say in hope of closing the matter. 'We haven't really been together long enough to be discussing things like that yet.'

'Oh, I don't know about that,' Cartman smirks. 'We've already discussed marriage, after all.'

Bastard. I'd forgotten about that. Stan eyes me in disbelief. 'Dude...seriously?'

Colour fills my face as I struggle to find my voice. 'It, err...came up in conversation.'

'Oh, how sweet!' Wendy squeals, clapping her hands together. 'Oh my God, we could totally have a double wedding!'

'Wedding?!'

I swear that the pane of glass in Stan's bedroom window quivered from the pitch of his voice. I smirk, feeling the bed shaking beneath me as Cartman roars with laughter.

And he thought tonight wasn't going to be any fun.

* * * * *

Cartman and I were both surprised and a little disappointed that Wendy was able to beat us both hands down at our Squirmy Stan game. I think we all got carried away with all the Stan torture, so Cartman and I didn't leave Stan's until around half ten. Liane was already in bed when we got home, so we quietly crept up the stairs to Cartman's room. After washing up and changing for bed, we underwent our brief nightly ritual of getting organised for school the next day.

'So tonight wasn't so bad, huh?' I say, hanging my towel up on the back of the door.

'I guess not,' he chuckles, tossing his sneakers into the closet. 'Stan's face when Wendy was talking about weddings and kids was fucking priceless! I wish I'd had my camera handy!'

I laugh in agreement. There was something really hilarious about discovering my best friend could put Mariah Carey to shame with his immense multiple octave vocal range. Cartman turns on the lampshade on the bedside table and flops down on the bed, yawning loudly. I quickly finish checking my backpack and join him, our bodies automatically curling together as we make ourselves comfortable.

'Thanks for keeping your promise,' I whisper.

'Sure.'

He shrugs it off, treating it as if it's not a big deal. It **is **a big deal though. He might have fucked up once with that horrible joke, but he was otherwise very well behaved, phenomenally so for him. He's just full of surprises. I like being surprised by him. We lay there in the silence for a while, staring at the ceiling and breathing in each other's scent.

'Do you ever think about kids?' he suddenly asks. 'Us having them, I mean?'

'Oh, all the time.'

I was actually being sarcastic, but I think Cartman misses it as his head snaps towards me, surprised eyes blinking rapidly.

'Really?'

I'm about to shake my head, but I decide against it. If there's one thing more fun than making Stan squirm, it's making Cartman squirm.

'Err...yeah...' I say hesitantly. 'I try not to think about it too much though. It kinda upsets me.'

His eyebrow cocks at this. 'How come?'

I try to look as miserable as possible, casting my eyes downward. I'm not the best actor in the world, so saying what I have in mind without laughing is going to be a tall order.

'I just...think it sucks that we can't biologically have children together,' I say slowly with a deep sigh. 'I know it's impossible, but it still makes me sad.'

I pause for a few seconds. He doesn't say anything, so I continue.

'I mean, over the years technology has advanced so much in so many fields, but they're still no further forward with finding a way for a man to get pregnant. It's just so difficult for me to accept that I'll never know the joy of carrying your child in my belly.'

I stroke my stomach wistfully, sniffling sadly. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that his mouth and eyes are both wide open. I have to bite down on my lip to keep a straight face. I can practically hear the cogs turning in his brain as he tries to come up with something to say in response to this revelation. I eventually compose myself enough to hazard making eye contact with him. I can only manage to handle the expression on his face for a few seconds before I burst out laughing. It takes him a moment to realise that I'm joking.

'What the fuck, Kyle?' he growls. 'Stupid asshole!'

The annoyed expression on his face only makes me laugh harder. He flicks my forehead sharply before rolling over on his side to face away from me. Once my laughter has died down, I sling my arm over his rigid form, stroking his chest with my fingertips. I kiss the back of his neck lightly and feel the tension begin to flow out of his body. He reluctantly turns back over to face me and I nuzzle into him.

'Seriously though,' I murmur. 'I've never thought about kids until today.'

His arms tighten around me. 'And?'

'I'm undecided.'

'Me too!' He sounds a little relieved. 'I mean, I'm thinking 'hell no' right now, but maybe some day...'

'Yeah, maybe when you've matured a little,' I grin dryly. 'Which probably won't be until you're like forty or something.'

He seems to ignore my insult, unflinching as he looks up at the ceiling thoughtfully. 'We're not raising them Jewish though.'

'We're not raising them white supremacist either, shithead.'

Again, he ignores me. 'No Jew names either. I'm not having a kid called Elijah or Malachi or Akeem or some shit.'

'Akeem is a Muslim name.'

'Yeah well, I'm not having a kid with a Muslim name either.'

I roll my eyes. 'Fine. It doesn't matter right now anyway. We've got years to discuss this stuff.'

'Yeah,' he nods. 'Besides, we should probably start off small. Get something to practise on first, like a cat.'

'Or a dog.'

He snorts derisively. 'Gay couples have **cats**, Kyle. Get with the program.'

'Stan says dogs are better than cats.'

'_Stan says dogs are better!' _he squeaks, imitating my tone. 'Dude, Stan pisses his pants at the sight of a goldfish. What the fuck does he know about pets? Dogs suck. They're so needy, clingy and whiney.'

'Well, I'm used to that.'

'Fuck you!'

'And cats suck too anyway. They're vindictive and selfish.'

'They're self-sufficient, is all.'

'Dogs are loyal, obedient and affectionate. They're wonderful companions for humans.'

'Convince me.'

The sudden soft purr in his voice takes me by surprise. 'Huh?'

'You owe me one for that study date today, right?'

'Err...Right?' I don't see where this is going.

He grins devilishly. 'So, get on your knees and show me what's so good about having a dog.'

Oh – now I get it. I smirk back at him and slide slowly down his body, moving into a kneeling position in between his legs. Just as I'm about to reach for his pyjama pants drawstring, Cartman abruptly shoves me off the bed. I hit the carpeted floor with a dull thud.

'What the fuck?'

I look up to see Cartman sitting up straight, gazing down at me. I feel my insides tremble when I see the look in his eyes – that sexy authoritarian gleam that I love so much.

'Dogs aren't allowed on the furniture,' he says firmly. 'And they don't talk either. Or wear clothes.'

He cocks his head to one side, gesturing to my boxers. Nodding silently, I slide the item of clothing down my legs and kick them to one side. Cartman leisurely moves off the bed and stands in front of me.

'Good boy,' he drawls. 'Now, sit!'

His resolute command sends shivers down my spine. I do as instructed in a dog-like fashion, pressing my ass to the floor with my arms outstretched in front of me. For the first time, I notice that my cock is hard and Cartman has clearly noticed too. He circles me, eyeing my body with a predatory gaze. He stops behind me, running his fingers through my hair as if he were petting an animal.

'Hmm...something's still missing,' he muses. 'I know!'

He crosses the room to his closet and after a moment of searching returns with a black suede leather choker. I recognise it from his teenage angst phase a few years ago – he promptly stopped wearing it because Butters started wearing one too and he felt it made them look like a couple of fags. He kneels in front of me and clips it tightly around my neck. I moan quietly at the smell and feel of the soft material pressing into my Adam's apple. When he's happy with the positioning of it, Cartman gives my face an affectionate stroke.

'My, what a handsome little dog I have,' he breathes. 'Come with me.'

He gets to his feet and drags me over to the bed by my collar. I kneel in front of him as he sits on the edge of the mattress. I can't help but admire how handsome he looks with the warm lighting hitting his face as he stares down at me contemplatively.

'There's something I've been meaning to give you, pup,' he purrs. 'A gift. I was saving it for a special occasion, but now is as good a time as any. Sit nicely now.'

I oblige, intrigued. He's never randomly given me a gift before. He reaches into his bedside table drawer and pulls out a black ball gag. I can tell just by looking at it that it's good quality – a nice shiny PVC one rather than a one of the dull gross tasting rubber ones. I feel the excitement rising in my stomach – I wonder if this is how real dogs feel when they see a ball too. Cartman seems to notice the interested look I'm giving his gift and grins.

'You want the ball, doggie? Then fetch.'

He raises his arm back and gently tosses the gag across to the other side of the room. I hesitate a moment before scurrying across the floor on my hands and knees to pick it up – I guess he just wants to watch me crawl around naked. I turn back to look at Cartman, who is staring at the ball in my hands with an eyebrow arched.

'Now, is that **really** how a dog picks up a ball?'

As condescending as he sounds, he has a point. I drop the ball back down to the carpet and pick it up in my mouth. When I return to Cartman, he takes it from me and throws it back across the room.

'Fetch again,' he demands. 'Slowly this time.'

I leisurely creep across the carpet and sink my teeth into the ball once more. I can feel his eyes on me the full time, observing every inch of my nude crawling form. When I return to his feet, he's positively beaming with lust as he reaches forward towards me. But instead of taking the ball from me this time, he ties the straps up behind the back of my head, locking the gag in place in my mouth.

'Good boy. Now...bark for me.'

I look at him blankly. Is he kidding me? Apparently not. He stares at me, nodding expectantly.

'Go on.'

Goddamn it...the game of fetch was fair enough, but this? I'm about to refuse when I notice the slight pleading look in his firm insistent eyes. I hate it when he looks at me like that. Goddamn it...Goddamn it! I guess I can deal with feeling like a retard for a few seconds if it will really make him happy. I take a slow deep breath in through my nose.

'Woof, woof.'

Cartman smirks at my feeble muffled little barks. 'Louder.'

I suck in a deeper breath. It's really hard to breathe around this fucking ball gag, but I guess that's the idea.

'Woof, woof!'

I felt that was a sufficiently loud bark, but the look on Cartman's face would indicate that he disagrees. He rolls his eyes, cupping a hand around his ear dramatically.

'I can't hear you!' he yells.

'Woof woof!!'

I don't think I can get any louder than that. I feel like such a dumbass. To make matters worse, with every bark that I let out, more and more dribbles of saliva escape out over my bottom lip and cascaded down my chin. I'm helpless to do anything about it due to the gag, so I just have to put up with it. I feel really embarrassed and uncomfortable, but overwhelmed and elated at the same time. I'm still as hard as a rock in between my legs. In fact, I daresay that I'm harder than I was before. One look at Cartman's pyjama pants tells me that he's getting off on this just as much as I am. He strokes my chin gently, capturing a trail of viscous saliva on his fingertip.

'Oh, is my puppy drooling?' he says with mocking grin. 'How cute. Keep barking!'

'Woof, woof, woof!'

His harsh voice and scornful expression rush like lightning to my ever-hardening cock. I can't imagine how I must look right now. Sitting on the floor naked with a full blown boner, barking like a dog with a ball gag in my mouth and drool all over my face and chest. I feel so humiliated. And I fucking love it. After another few more delectably discomforting moments, Cartman holds up his hand to silence me, smiling kindly.

'What a clever doggie I have. Would the good doggie like a reward?'

'Woof!'

His dark eyes sparkle wickedly as he leans forward and unties the straps holding my gag in place. I clench my jaw shut a few times, trying to rid myself of the slight stiffness holding the ball in my mouth caused. I make a conscious effort to resist the urge to wipe the trails of drool from my skin – after all, a dog wouldn't be able to do that. Once Cartman has placed the ball on the nightstand, he pets my hair lightly and tugs down his pyjama pants, exposing his hard throbbing cock.

'Come get your reward, puppy,' he coos. 'Come get your bone.'

His fingers twist in my hair and he pulls my face towards his crotch. I don't need any further encouragement. I slide my damp tongue along the length of his hot rigid flesh, teasing his balls with gentle licks when I reach the base. I work my way back up, taking the head of his cock into my mouth and suckling hungrily. He groans scratchily as I trace the outline of his foreskin with the tip of my tongue and then take his length into the back of my throat. As I suck earnestly at his shaft, I smile to myself as his fingers contract and constrict their grip on my hair. The more I work on him, the hard and hotter he seems to get, burning my lips with the heat of his skin.

As he hits his climax his hips thrust upwards, pushing his cock to the back of my throat and making me gag. As hard as I try I can't control the automatic reactions of my body, and splutter his load out onto the carpet in front of me. Judging by the perverted smirk on Cartman's face, that was totally his intention.

'Look at the mess you've made on the carpet!' he snaps.

He stomps to his feet, gripping the back of my head and rubbing my nose in the seed spattered carpet. I yelp slightly, fighting the desire to pull my face away from the soiled floor. As gross as this is, my stiff cock still presses against my stomach, trembling with desire. I yelp again when my head is sharply yanked back up, and Cartman glares down into my eyes.

'Bad dog!' he snarls. 'I'm going to have to punish you.'

He roughly drags me towards the centre of the room by my hair, forcing me to crawl into the position he wants me in. Before I even have the chance to steady myself on my knees, I feel his thick fingers invading my entrance. When he brushes my prostate, I cry out in a fit of agonizing pleasure and almost lose control. All the strength leaves my body, and the only thing holding me up is his strong hand in my hair.

'Get ready,' Cartman growls. ''Cause I'm gonna fuck you like the pretty little bitch dog that you are.'

He gives me a second to stabilise myself and kneels behind me. I whimper softly as I feel the head of his cock pressing insistently against my ass. He doesn't enter me, holding himself at my entrance teasingly. With a frustrated grunt, I push my hips backwards, impaling myself on his cock. Our moans mingle together in a sensual chorus as he mercifully starts thrusting into me.

'Ah!' I gasp. 'Oh, fuck!'

The heavy hand leaves my hair and smacks my ass hard, and I let out another full-throated yelp.

'No talking!' Cartman hisses. 'Bad puppy!'

I bite my lip to silence my moaned words as he drives into me harder. I push back again him to increase the friction, spurred on by the sound of his balls slapping against the inside of my thighs. I throw my head back, losing myself in the delicious electric sensations of pleasure and pain shooting through my system. I hear Cartman groaning and gasping for breath behind me.

'Bark for me, bitch!'

'Wo-woof! Ah...woof!'

Colour stains my cheeks as I bark loudly, disjointedly. I lower my chin to my chest and almost howl when I'm hit once again by the distinctive smell of leather. Cartman rakes his fingernails across my back, encouraging my passionate cries. We're now fucking with such unbridled ferocity that I wouldn't be surprised if we both end up with severe carpet burn when we're done. I couldn't give a shit right now though. I'm so close to the edge and desperate for release, and he knows it well. He reaches around me and starts jerking my engorged cock with long vigorous strokes.

'Cum for me, you fucking mutt,' he barks in my ear.

'Woof, woo-ah, shit! Eric!'

I barely hear my final fervent cries as I hit a blinding orgasm and explode into his waiting hand. I feel Cartman bury himself balls-deep inside of me as he hits his own climax with a satisfied grunt. We hold completely still in this position for a moment while we both get our breath back. Cartman moves first, pulling out of me and standing slowly. A moment later, I feel his arms encircling my waist and tugging me to my feet. I follow him shakily to the bed, where we both collapse side by side. As I wipe the sweat, cum and God knows what else from my face, I can feel Cartman removing the collar from my neck. He tosses it across the room carelessly then reaches over to switch off the lampshade on the bedside table. As my eyes adjust to the dark, I feel him pulling my body against his as he strokes my damp hair tenderly.

'You know, I'm starting to see what you mean,' he says softly. 'Dogs **are** pretty cool.'

'Dude, I'd better not ever catch you doing **that** to a dog,' I snigger. 'Isn't your heart still set on a cat though?'

'Well, why should we settle for one or the other? We could always just get one of each.'

That sounds like a reasonable compromise. 'But don't cats and dogs hate each other?'

'Well, yeah. But given the right circumstances, they can grow to love each other.'

I have to grin at that - how appropriate for our situation. Cartman suddenly kisses my cheek.

'You know, you called me 'Eric' when you came.'

I can hear the huge smirk in his voice. Did I really? Wow...I totally did. And it didn't even feel that weird! I guess I'm just so used to hearing his mom calling him 'Eric' around the house that the word has finally wormed its way into my vocabulary. At least he's pleased about it.

'Say it again,' he murmurs.

'Huh? Why?'

He shrugs. 'I like it.'

I laugh. 'Well, you should do. It's your name, after all...Eric.'

He chuckles happily then sighs, nuzzling his face against mine. I blush a little at this – he's occasionally affectionate after sex, but his affection is never usually this...snuggle orientated. I kinda like it though. It's nice having him so close to me, making me feel so warm. If I'd know calling him by his first name would have made him like this, I would have forced myself to do it much sooner.

'So what kind of dog would you want?' he mutters sleepily.

I think silently for a moment. 'I'm not sure. Shih Tzus are nice.'

'Heh...'Shit-Sue'.'

I grin. 'My aunt has one and it's really cool. It always tries to bite my mom.'

'Ah, a dog after my own heart! But aren't they like, ridiculously little? I don't want a little dog.'

'Little dogs live the longer than big dogs though.'

'Yeah, but **you** won't live very long if some redneck gay basher mows you down with his pickup truck while you're walking such a faggy looking dog!'

I roll my eyes. 'Okay, fine. What kind of cat would you want?'

'A Blue Point Persian,' he says proudly.

'Yeah,' I snigger. ''Cause a big fluffy kitty cat isn't faggy at all!'

'Hey!' he growls. 'Persians are the most popular breed of cat in the US!'

'Ooh, you know what? You could get it a cute little collar with its name in diamantes,' I taunt. 'And it can wear it while you brush its pretty fur all day long.'

'Oh yeah? Well, we'll have to get you a nice designer purse to carry your tiny little doggie around in, fag!'

'I bet your puff-ball kitty cat would look great with some pink highlights and ribbons in its hair, queer-mo.'

'Not as great as your miniature mutt would look in a little sequined t-shirt that says 'I love my daddy, who is such a raging homo!' across the front.'

'Fuck off! I'd never put clothes on a dog!'

'Well, I'd never fucking highlight a cat's hair!'

'Then what the hell are we arguing about then?'

'I have no fucking idea!'

I consider laughing at how retarded we are, but instead I kiss him firmly. He opens his mouth to me instantly, sucking on my tongue and massaging it with his. I sigh lightly, enjoying the soothingly familiar taste and texture of his mouth and lips. When we part, it's clear even in the dark that we're wearing matching smiles.

'None of that stuff matters right now anyway,' I say softly.

He nods. 'Yeah, we have all the time in the world to think about this shit. For now, I don't need anything else to care about. Just you.'

He presses another gentle kiss to my forehead. Again I'm totally surprised, both by his words and his uncharacteristic tenderness. He must have read my mind or something but he suddenly seems to become self-conscious, shuffling around beside me and clearing his throat nervously. I tighten my arms around him as he buries his face into the crook of my neck, kissing the skin there.

'Err...love you, Kyle.'

I chuckle silently at his gruff muttering. So, I even get to hear the rarely uttered 'L' word tonight? I am so gonna rip on him for this tomorrow. However, until then...

'Love you too...Eric.'

* * * * *

_Well, there you have it! They're finally on a first name basis with each other! And they want, err, pets together, apparently...yeah... By the way, I make no apologies for the Stan torture – it was too much fun to write to feel sorry for!_

_I'm not sure when I'll be able to update next, as I'm taking time off work to go on a well deserved vacation next weekend. But when I return, I'll have recharged my batteries and hopefully will have plenty of energy to make the most of my writing time. It's also my birthday soon, so I'll probably be a year older by the time I update next. Anyone wanna guess how old I'll be? If you guess right, I'll dedicate the next chapter to you. LOL!_

_Anyway, in chapter 23, Kyle and Eric are going to Colorado Springs. It'll probably be more of a reflective kind of chapter before I begin the going to college part of the story. So it'll be another filler style chapter, though I do have plans to feature Kenny somewhere, so it should be a funny one. I swear, this damn story is gonna end up going beyond the previous revised estimate of 30 chapters. I wonder how much longer I can keep this story going for. I mean, I still have loads of ideas and lots of you are still reading after all this time, which I really appreciate. I might just keep writing until you guys start getting bored with it. (Or until __**I**__ start getting bored with it – whichever comes first!)_

_Thanks for reading, dudes! Hope to see you soon!_

_DD_

_XX_


	23. Image

_Author Notes: Hey dudes! It's been a while. I've been busting my ass big-style at work lately, so this chapter is my way of blowing off a little steam. Unfortunately, I'm too tired and pissed off at the minute to write anything decent, so this'll have to do for the time being. It's just a bit of fun, so enjoy. It's dedicated to PrincessDesire, since she guessed my age correctly. God, I'm old! LOL!_

**Chapter 23 – Image**

After years of pretence and subterfuge, the inevitable has finally occurred. My parents are getting a divorce. Dad called the day after finals were over to tell me. The wait was deliberate, he said. He didn't want the news affecting my academic performance. I seriously doubt that it would have done. The news didn't exactly come as a shock. Dad has barely even mentioned Mom lately without sneering, so I was well prepared for something like this happening. I'm not so sure about Ike though. I've tried texting him and calling his cell for days but he's just not responding. I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. Despite the fact that he's only ten, he's a pretty busy guy. I'm just anxious to know how he's feeling. I even tried calling him at home, but Mom picked up and as soon as she heard my voice, the line went dead. She probably thinks that this is all my fault. I guess in a way, it kinda is...

I don't mean to sound arrogant, but I totally aced my finals! Seriously, if I don't get at least a B+ on every exam, I'll be very surprised. Eric seems pretty confident about his results too... Yeah, I said 'Eric'...I'm getting pretty used to the word. Lately I only really tend to call him 'Cartman' when I'm pissed at him, and that's only because 'Goddamn it, Cartman!' sounds way more appropriate than 'Goddamn it, Eric!' when I'm yelling at him for something. Stan thinks his exams went well too, but nobody seems to be too worried about his scores since his scholarship is pretty much in the bag anyway. Kenny showed up for the exams and completed them as best he could, but he generally doesn't give a shit about how he's done. He has no plans whatsoever to go to college. Naturally, Eric highlighted the fact that he's too poor to pay college fees anyway, to which Ken shrugged and said that he'd rather spend his youth 'hanging out and screwing hot chicks' instead.

Eric's reaction to the news about my parents was a little weird. Instead of being an asshole about it like I expected him too, a mixed expression of pity and mild amusement came over his face. He then shrugged, declaring that 'Gerald' is better off without 'El Superbitcho' anyway, which was a little more like him. But over the days that followed, I noticed that he was making more of an effort to be nice to me. I didn't hear as many Jew jokes as normal, and he was being particularly affectionate towards me after sex. This odd behaviour came to a head one morning when I woke up to the announcement that we needed a vacation, followed by a brochure for Colorado Springs being thrown in my face. I was quite happy to let him make out that a vacation together was his latest epiphany, despite the fact that I had originally come up with the idea months ago. Some things just aren't worth arguing about. I was just thankful that he was so enthusiastic about going.

So that's how we ended up here - on a hillside in the middle of Colorado Springs, surrounded by greenery and rocks. We haven't really interacted with each other very much since arriving, opting to just do our own thing. We both seem happy with this arrangement – we're both firm believers in having 'me time', especially Eric. So I'm taking the opportunity to just relax and do nothing, stretched out on my back gazing up at the clouds as a gentle breeze cools my face where the sun has warmed it. Eric, on the other hand, is hard at work in full pro-photographer mode with his equipment scattered across the grassy terrain. Not that anyone's complaining about his mound of organised chaos - despite this place being such a popular destination, we've barely seen a single other person since we left the bus. That's not a bad thing though. I hate to sound anti-social, but fuck other people. I like my peace and quiet.

When I come out of my cloud-induced trance, I find myself feeling a little bored. I've brought a few books to keep me occupied, but I'm actually more interested in watching Eric work. The creative part of his mind seems to be going into overdrive as he carefully analyses every element of our surroundings, presumably assessing its photographic potential. It's amazing how diligent and precise he is, taking up to forty minutes just to get one single perfect shot. He constantly adjusts the camera, fiddling with buttons and murmuring to himself softly, an intense look of concentration on his face all the while.

'It's rude to stare, you know?'

His voice startles me. I wonder how long he's known that I've been watching him. I didn't even notice him looking up from what he was doing. I pounce to my feet and approach him as he stares intently through the lens of his camera.

'I'm just curious as to what you're doing. And as to how you're taking so goddamn long to do it.'

He looks up sharply, his face contorted into an indignant frown.

'What I am doing is undergoing a highly creative and convoluted process,' he rants. 'The art of photography is complex and intricate, way too much so for your simple systematic little Jew brain to comprehend.'

He taps me on the forehead pointedly. He's right – I wouldn't even know where to start. But I'm not about to say this.

'It's just taking a picture,' I say with a shrug. 'If a retard like you can do it, anyone can.'

'Oh, really? Care to give it a try?'

He holds the camera out to me, eyebrow arched in challenge. I tentatively reach out and take the camera into my hands, crying out in surprise as the flash goes off and blinds me.

'Great start, Jew boy,' Eric sniggers.

'Well, I don't know what to do!' I growl a little too defensively.

There's a familiar twinkle in Eric's eyes. It's the twinkle he gets when he knows he has more knowledge about something than I do. I feel a jolt of irritation shoot through my body, but it doesn't last. He reaches out and turns the camera around in my hands so that the lens is pointing in the right direction.

'First of all, pick your subject. What do you want a photo of?'

I look around at our surroundings - tall powerful trees, colourful flowers, majestic mountains off in the distance. All beautiful, but I know what I'd prefer a picture of.

'Could I...take a photo of you?'

Eric immediately looks unsure and sort of surprised at my request. He'll probably say no - he's told me before that he hates being in photographs as he doesn't feel that he's photogenic. However, he suddenly grins haughtily.

'What's the matter? Don't get enough of my hot body in the flesh?'

'More than enough. There's plenty of you to go around,' I crack. 'Seriously though, you have so many of me and I don't have any of you. I'd really like at least one.'

I really do. Stan always carries a picture of Wendy with him in his wallet, which I used to think was kinda gay. But I'd really like one of Eric to keep with me all the time too, just in case we ever have to be apart for some reason... I guess that **is** pretty gay. But he didn't hear it, so who the fuck cares? He studies my pleading expression thoughtfully before breaking into a frown.

'How do you know that I have photos of you?'

I know from snooping around on his computer. Judging by his facial expression, he realises this. I cringe as he rolls his eyes at me.

'Typical nosey Jew,' he sighs gruffly. 'Where do you want me anyway?'

I let the anti-Semitic comment slide as I glance around for a nice spot for the photo to be taken.

'Over there?'

I gesture towards a thick gnarly tree at the base of the hillside. Eric's eyebrow furrows.

'Why there?'

'I like that tree. What's wrong with over there?'

'The lighting's terrible. Just look at all those shadows. You're gonna end up with a really depressing photograph.'

'Yeah, you're right. The picture's gonna be depressing enough with you in it.'

'Hey!'

'How about over there?'

I point to a log in a well lit area, with a cluster of mountains looming in the background. Eric nods approvingly as I mount the camera onto the tripod.

'Much better. Now you need to adjust the settings.'

He comes up beside me, close enough that I can smell his hair and study every dimple in his skin.

'The settings I already have on here would be sufficient if you just wanted the background, but since you're adding a person to the photograph, you gonna need to adjust the lens so that...'

Whatever he says next totally goes over my head. Something about the focus...aperture...filter...thing. I'm totally not focusing on the task at hand. I know I've said this before, but he's just so hot when he's being teacher-like, all authoritative and knowledgeable. When he's finished fiddling with the camera he turns to me and grins smugly, his brown eyes glistening playfully. I wonder if he knows what he does to me when he looks like that. I could just kiss him right now, I really could.

'Got it?' he asks in conclusion.

'Sure,' I lie.

I can vaguely remember which button he said to push to take the photo. That's all I really need to know to get by right now. He starts towards the log, then halts suddenly and returns to the camera.

'Now what are you doing?' I ask, sounding a lot more impatient than what I truly feel.

'Setting the timer.'

'Why?'

When he's finished pushing some more buttons, he refuses to meet my eyes and looks a little bit apprehensive.

'Okay, this is gonna sound like a really sissy idea. But just...humour me.'

Before I can ask any questions he briskly walks away, leaving me with a confused look on my face. He sits down on the log, still grinning like the strangely attractive psycho that he is.

'Looking good?'

I glance through the camera and smile at what I see. Not photogenic, my ass. He looks fucking hot as far as I'm concerned.

'Perfect,' I say softly.

'Okay then. Push the button....'

I do.

'Now run your scrawny ass over here and get next to me.'

He wants a photograph of us together? I hesitate for a second before remembering I've kinda got a time limit. I dart over to the log and sit down next to Eric. He smirks at me, cupping my chin in his hand and guiding my face towards his. My eyes flutter shut and I receive his lips just as the camera clicks, capturing the moment. When we're done kissing, I gaze at him curiously.

'You're right. That **was** a sissy idea.'

I get a middle finger in my face for that. 'Suck my balls, Kyle. I'm the creative genius here. Besides, you know you liked it.' He's right. A picture of us together is way better than one of just him. 'We've gotta get a copy of that one for Stan.'

I shake my head. 'Nah, let's do another one especially for him. Using tongue.'

'Hey, yeah!' he laughs. 'Better yet, you could take off your clothes and I could take a picture of you naked.'

I raise an eyebrow. 'For Stan?'

'Hell no! For me!'

'No chance, butt-munch.'

'Would you at least do shirtless?'

'Perhaps.'

'How 'bout a nice picture of you sucking my balls?'

I smirk. 'Maybe later.'

He mirrors my smile. 'Come on. Let's get our shit together and haul ass.'

We get up from the log and go our separate ways again. I pack up my stuff and when I see Eric has finished gathering his things, I start walking down the hillside. I don't get far before I hear him screeching behind me.

'Hey! Slow down, Jew boy! I'm not done here!'

When I look back, I can see him kneeling on the ground by the log, holding something in his hands. When I get closer, I realise that it's a small box.

'What's that?' I ask, joining him on my knees.

'Mr Kitty's ashes,' he says softly. 'I've been looking for somewhere special to scatter them for a while now. I mean, if she's gonna spend eternity somewhere it might as well be somewhere decent, right?'

He hesitates a moment and then opens the tiny cardboard casket, gently shaking the ash over the grass surrounding the log. When the box is empty, he doesn't move. He just stares at the scattered remains for what feels like a really long time. I impulsively lean in and slide an arm around his shoulder. He rolls his eyes at the action, but smiles warmly regardless. It's so rare to see him this way – so benevolent, so emotional, so vulnerable. He hides his heart so much, spending most of his life concealed behind a wall of apathy. In this moment, I realise how privileged I am to be able to get beyond those walls. To see Eric for who he really is...

* * * * *

After taking a few more random photos that are sure to send a shudder up Stan's spine, we pick out a place to set up camp for the night. We're camping out since we don't have the money to spend on a hotel room. Eric's not too impressed since he likes the homely luxuries being in a hotel offers, but I prefer it this way – I love the idea of getting back to basics and sleeping under the stars. It was raining for a little while yesterday so the ground's pretty muddy, but that's cool. I might be gay but I'm still a filthy dirty boy deep down. And nobody knows this better than Eric. I leave it to him to pitch the tent while I work on making a small campfire. He wanted it the other way round, but there's no way in hell I'm putting Eric Cartman in charge of fire safety. That's just asking for trouble.

It doesn't take me long to get a small safe fire going. I could offer to give Eric a hand with the tent, but he'd no doubt be too proud to accept my help. Besides, sitting back and listening to him cursing at the tent poles is far more amusing. As I watch him get more and more agitated, I impulsively check my cell phone. Pleasantly surprised to find that I have a signal out here, I try Ike's number again. I'm not sure why I bother. I'm so sick of the sound of his phone ringing out...

'Will you put that goddamn thing down?'

I look over at Eric's annoyed face. He's likely to be more annoyed at the unruly tent than at me, but his tone is uncalled for.

'What, I'm not allowed to use my cell phone?' I snap back.

'We're on vacation! Can't that fucking hippie last five minutes without you texting him?'

'For your information I'm trying to call my brother, fatass!'

He doesn't say anything more – just kinda stares at me blankly for a second before continuing on waging war on the tent. What an asshole. It's not my fault he's incapable of putting up the stupid tent. Does he not realise how worried I am about Ike? Not that he'd take my concerns seriously – he's scolded me for worrying about my brother too much on more than one occasion. I guess the fact that he's a spoilt only child means that he simply doesn't understand what it feels like to be a big brother.

Eric finally manages to get the tent up just as it starts to get dark. Completing the task seems to improve his mood so we're back to acting like no bad words had passed between us, chatting and joking as we break out some of the food we bought from a store earlier today. Eric had wanted to buy a load of junk food since we're on vacation but since my diabetes doesn't take a vacation, I bought some healthy stuff too. I must look pretty weird, nibbling on lettuce and celery as Eric dangles some 'real camping food' over the campfire from a skewer. Sausages have always grossed me out, and it has nothing to do with the fact that I'm Jewish. You just never know quite exactly what you're putting into your mouth when you eat sausage. I mean, it's pig but it's all the leftover crap from the pig. Like the eyes and the tail - all the stuff you'd never dream of eating if it wasn't mashed up, squished into some skin and twisted into an undeniably phallic shape.

In fact, that's probably what sausage is for the most part – pig cock. Fucking sickening.

I study the sausage currently on the end of Eric's skewer. It's totally pink on one side and as black as ashes on the other. Considering Eric claims to be such a great cook, I find this quite hilarious.

'You like food poisoning or something?'

I glance over at me and scoffs. 'You're just jealous 'cause you're having to eat like a fucking guinea pig.'

'At least I won't get trichinosis from celery,' I say smartly, turning up my nose. 'God, those things smell gross.'

He rolls his eyes. 'It's burning pig flesh, of course it does. What wrong? Is the fact that the air is no longer kosher making your Jew senses tingle?'

'Do you remember how to run, fat boy? Cos you're gonna have to when the bears you'll be attracting with those things start turning up.'

'Well, they'd be done and eaten by now if you'd have let me build the fucking fire. Did you have to be such a stingy Jew with the wood? This thing is fucking pathetic.'

Now, that hurt. I happened to be very proud of my safe little fire.

'I like things small. You should know that by now, Cartman.'

Eric's eyebrow quirks at my catty comment.

'That's not what you said last night...**Broflovski**.'

Touché. I open my mouth to form a witty retort, but nothing comes to mind. Smirking triumphantly, Eric turns his attention back to the fire. Smug asshole.

'Just shut up and cook your stinking pig dicks.'

My muttered response is a bit delayed, but better late than never. I can't see his face, but I can tell he's rolling his eyes again.

'I'm almost done! Keep your panties on, princess.'

It takes me a second to digest that one. 'Did...did you just call me 'princess'?'

'I think the title suits you. Kyle, the Fairy Jew Princess.'

'Well, what the hell are you then? Eric, the Great White Shrek?'

He openly smirks at how outraged I sound. 'Do you have any idea how hot you are when you're angry?'

'Do **you **have any idea how annoying you are when you're awake?'

'Yes, I do. Now shut your fairy mouth and let me enjoy my pig dicks in peace.'

I let out a frustrated cry, folding my arms across my chest huffily. I scowl at the side of his head as I watch him scarf down his dinner. Is it wrong that I'm slightly turned on by the sight of my boyfriend eating sausages? Eric suddenly breaks the silence with a contemptuous snort.

'Bears!' he scoffs sarcastically through a mouthful of sausage. 'Cos we've seen plenty of those today! When was the last time you saw a bear, Kyle?'

I continue to scowl at him. 'There **are** bears around here, dickhead.'

'They won't come near humans, douchebag.'

'They will if you-you know what? Screw this! I'm not going to let you bait me into having yet another stupid argument with you.'

'Me? That's rich since at least ninety-five percent of our arguments are started by you.'

A short scornful laugh escapes my lips at this. 'And exactly which orifice did you pull that bullshit statistic out of?'

He shrugs, swallowing another mouthful of food. 'I didn't have to pull it from anywhere. It's always been that way. I've just gone through life being me and doing what I want. It's** you** that's always been the one to take exception to my behaviour, with your moral fucking high-ground and your uptight Jew ethics.'

'Oh, so now I'm uptight?'

'Yep. Nothing but an uptight little fairy princess.'

'Goddamn it, Cartman! Stop calling me that!'

He shoots me an irksome grin. 'See what I mean, princess? Say, why don't you use those daisies over there to make yourself a pretty princess tiara?'

God, he's so fucking annoying! What the hell makes me a princess anyway? I'm a boy, damn it! Perhaps he needs reminding of that... My anger fades as a naughty idea enters my head. I think I have the perfect way to disprove his royal accusations.

'You know what? I think I will.'

Eric rolls his eyes as I get to my feet and cross over to him, eyeing the patch of daisies at his feet. As I bend over to reach for the flowers, I let a gigantic fart escape my ass right into his smug smiling face. I felt that one brewing in my stomach earlier. I usually just let them slip out quietly, but I'm glad I didn't this time - that was seriously the best fart I've ever done! It was so unbelievably loud and would have scored at least a 6 on the Beaufort scale – I swear to Moses that it moved Eric's hair ever so slightly! And it totally fucking stinks - my high fibre diet always ensures that my farts smell like a dead wet dog covered in mouldy cheese. Usually, nobody appreciates a good fart more than Eric Cartman. Right now though, I'm not so sure.

'What the fuck, Kyle!'

Oh my God, he looks fucking horrified! Even more so when I start laughing so hard that I fall shakily to my hands and knees.

'Oops! Sorry!' I gasp out mid laughter. 'Guinea pig food has that affect on me!'

'Jesus Christ, Kyle! I'm eating here!'

Oh, come on! I know Eric's grown up a lot since we got together, but surely he can still see the glaringly funny side of a good fart?

'I know that you're eating,' I say with a smirk. 'I just thought you might like some cheese with your sausages.'

That did it. It starts as a reluctant snigger, but quickly evolves into full blown laughter. I can't remember the last time I heard him laugh so hard.

'You're fucking sick,' he chuckles.

'Yes, I am,' I say proudly. 'Still think I'm an uptight princess, asshole?'

Eric stares at me for a second before tossing his sausages to one side. His hand reaches out for my hair and he roughly drags me into his lap. I automatically make myself comfortable, wrapping my arms around his neck as his lips press against mine.

'I think you're fucking hot,' he growls.

'So you're adding farting to your list of turn-ons now?' I joke.

He smiles beautifully, locking eyes with me. 'Everything you do turns me on. Whether you're getting uptight and yelling at me, or laughing and farting in my face. It all works for me, somehow.'

My stomach flutters - that's sweet in a fucked-up sorta way. He kisses me again, deeper this time. For some reason I'm not grossed out by his sausage scented lips, unable to hold back from sliding my tongue into his mouth. He responds by clamping his teeth down, trapping my invasive muscle in a vicelike grip. I sigh softly at the delightful throbbing in my tongue as his fingers start tugging at the buttons of my shirt.

Right on cue, my cell phone rings. I almost ignore it but immediately retrieve it from my back pocket when it hits me that Ike might be calling. It isn't though...

'It's Kenny. That's weird. I thought he was hitching to Vegas with Craig.'

Eric scowls. 'Just ignore it.'

'Dude, Kenny never calls unless it's important.'

'No, he never calls because he's too fucking poor to pay a cell phone bill. Ignore it.'

I sigh at his indifference. 'C'mon, dude. It's gotta be an emergency if he's leaving it ringing this long.'

'Kyle-'

I shoot him a semi-apologetic look as I click the answer button. 'Hey Ken.'

'Hey dude...'

As Eric huffs beside me, I find myself feeling a little disturbed by Kenny's hushed tone.

'Are you okay?' I ask. 'Why are you whispering?'

'I'm in a motel room bathroom right now,' he mutters. 'Craig's in the other room. I don't want him to hear me.'

Weird... 'Err...okay. Well, what's up?'

I hear shuffling around in the background and the sound of water running. There's more shuffling, then Kenny sighs and starts to talk.

'You know how you like dudes?'

I already dislike where this is going...

'Yeah?'

'Well...how do you know?'

'Huh?'

Kenny sighs again. 'How do you know if you like dudes?'

'Why?'

There's a really long silence on the line, broken finally by Ken's uneven laughter.

'No reason, really,' he chuckles nervously. 'It's just...I think...I might like Craig, is all.'

My jaw drops. No way! Not titty fanatic and pussy freak, Kenny McCormick. I know that a lot of highly sexed people are bisexual, but...just...no fucking way! He takes my stunned silence as his cue to explain.

'You see...we just met this chick in a bar. She couldn't decide which one of us she wanted to fuck, so she suggested a threesome. After much deliberation, we agreed and came back to her room. She got naked, we got naked, and all systems were set to go. But there was a catch, a little something hidden in the small print...'

Dramatic pause...

'The kinky bitch wasn't willing to let us touch her until we touched each other first. You know, kinda like that part from that American Pie movie?'

I don't, but never mind.

'So Craig and I...kinda...jerked each other off a little,' Kenny murmurs, then adds hastily: 'It was the first time I've ever done any kind of sex thing involving another dude and I totally wouldn't have done it if the chick wasn't a total knockout!'

I totally believe him. He's done a lot worse for a hot chick before.

'So we did that until she was happy to let us touch her,' he continues. 'But even though I had this hot naked chick in front of me begging me to do her, I just...I just couldn't take my eyes off of Craig's cock! I mean, it was turning me on as much as this chick's naked titties were, dude! It's just looked so tempting, all hard and swollen and pointing at me. Pointing like it was the finger of the Lord above himself, choosing me for some divine purpose. I totally just wanted to drop to my knees in front of him and suck it, you know?'

Surely that's a rhetorical question?

'Ken...is this a joke?'

I hate to sound unsupportive, but this is just so unbelievable that I'm starting to think that he's winding me up. He's probably got me on speakerphone or something. Him and Craig are probably gathered together around the cell phone laughing their asses off at me.

'No, dude! I'm totally serious!' Kenny exclaims. 'I totally wanted to blow Craig just now!'

He's actually sounds genuinely concerned. Maybe he's being serious after all...

'So what's wrong with me?' he asks softly, calmer now. 'Diagnose me, Dr Brof! Am I gay for him or what?'

'I sincerely doubt it,' I reply. 'It was probably just a combination of the girl turning you on and confusion from being involved in an unfamiliar sexual situation. You'll get over it. And you're not gay, so don't worry.'

I try to make my voice as soft and reassuring as possible, but judging by Kenny's erratic mumbling it doesn't make a lot of difference.

'But why Craig? I've seen loads of cocks before in porn and shit, and never so much as blinked! What makes his cock so fucking special?'

I roll my eyes. 'I dunno. I guess he just has a nice looking dick or something. Just chill out.'

'But it looked so tempting!'

'Ken-'

'And it pointed at me!'

'Will you stop talking about Craig's cock for just one second?'

I notice Eric giving me an odd look out of the corner of my eye. I don't blame him. I hear Kenny breathing heavily and sigh, pinching my nose between my thumb and forefinger.

'Dude...have you been drinking?' I ask softly.

'Just a few beers,' he mutters.

Now we're getting somewhere... 'And smoking weed?'

'...maybe a little.'

'In that case, you're not in any position to be making any major lifestyle choices right now,' I say firmly. 'So stop thinking about Craig's cock and go to bed. If you're not 'back to normal' in the morning, call me and we'll talk it out. Okay?'

Stupid stoned jackass. Though I guess I do feel a little sorry for him. Being confused about your sexuality sucks, especially when you think you might like a friend. Or an enemy, in my case.

'That's good advice, I guess. Thanks Kyle. My apologies for interrupting your little recreation of Brokeback Mountain.'

I'm unable to hold back the irritated growl the obvious smile in his voice inspires. 'G'night, Ken.'

After I abruptly hang up the phone, I notice Eric looking increasingly confused.

'Craig's cock?' he says slowly.

I roll my eyes. 'Kenny's high and thinks he's gay.'

'Poor piece of shit,' Eric snarls. '**That** was his emergency?'

'Guess so,' I toss my phone to one side. 'Sorry for the interruption.'

He shrugs. 'It's cool. Good things come for those who wait.'

'Don't you mean '**to** those who wait'?'

'Nope. I mean 'for'...'

Grinning perversely, he shoves me onto my back so hard that I have to brace myself to avoid hitting my head against the ground. He pounces on top of me, kneeling astride my hips and pinning my wrists to the damp grass. I gasp sharply as his lips clash against mine, his teeth grazing my tongue as I reciprocate his fervour. He slowly releases my wrists, his hands travelling downwards to paw insistently at my denim-encased crotch. I moan into his mouth, chuckling lightly as his fingertips work their way upwards and tickle my stomach. Lost in his kisses, I barely notice my buttons being touched as he removes my shirt at breakneck speed. My jeans are eradicated with similar ease, and I arch my back a little as the soft cool grass caresses my bare skin.

He backs up off me a little way, his eyes raking my naked form unabashedly as I reach for the hem of his t-shirt. When he momentarily gets stuck inside his shirt as I remove it, I use the situation to my advantage and spring forward, pinning him on his back. He doesn't look too impressed with being flattened, but he looks a lot happier when I grind my naked groin into the material of his combat trousers. I trail kisses over his bare chest, my teeth gently pinching at his nipples, coaxing them to stand to attention. The low growl I hear in his throat is like music to my ears as I yank the camouflage material down his legs. I'm met with a mouth-watering sight - he's already almost fully erect, and I've barely even touched him yet. His hips arch towards me in explicit need.

'Blow me.'

His authoritative tone doesn't leave any room for arguments. Not that I would ever dream of doing so. I can feel the dirt collecting on my shins as I kneel between his legs, stroking his hard length vigorously. His hot rigid flesh practically sizzles at the touch of my wet tongue as I lick him from base to tip. I'm careful not to neglect his balls, juggling them in the palm of my hand with my fingers and suckling at them enthusiastically. Our earlier conversation flashes through my mind and wonder if he's discreetly reaching for his camera right now. I hear his breathing become raspy and his body reacts jerkily as I take his twitching cock into my throat. His skin tastes a little muskier than usual, but not so unpleasant that my tongue doesn't dare to venture into every fold and crevice of his taut skin.

I'm interrupted when a fist is twisted in my hair. In one fluid motion, I'm yanked upwards and have the breath stolen from my lungs by way of a searing kiss. My tongue explores his mouth with the same enthusiasm it did his cock, perfectly tracing the shapely outline of his lips. When we part he chuckles darkly, eyeing me appreciatively.

'You taste like my balls.'

I snigger at this. 'How do you know what your balls taste like?'

He doesn't reply, instead moving to roughly manoeuvre me onto my back again. Always eager to make things hard for him, I resist and struggle against his vigour. I hear him chuckle again as he in turn grips my wrists and tries to wrestle me into his desired position. It's almost like we're fighting for dominance as we roll about on the damp grass, rocking back and forth in a ritual-like dance of supremacy. I can feel cool clumps of mud clinging to my hot skin as I try to writhe from his grip. Amidst the struggle, I feel something scorching my outer thigh.

'Goddamn it!'

He follows my gaze, regarding the lump of hot sausage meat sticking to my skin with great amusement. He releases one of my wrists, retrieving the offending meat from my skin and swallowing it down before pulling me into a rough kiss. I unwisely allow instinct to get the better of me and part my lips, not thinking about who I'm dealing with here. Sure enough, I have to pull back in disgust as a load of chewed up sausage is unceremoniously dumped into my mouth. That fat fucking turd! He laughs wickedly as I spit out the mouthful of mashed up meat.

'Cartman!' I scream, rather girlishly.

'Does this mean you're no longer kosher?' he smirks.

'Fuck yo-'

I'm cut short by Cartman's tongue as it delves back into my mouth. He takes advantage of my distraction and tackles me onto my back. There's no way I'm giving into him, especially after that stunt he's just pulled. I thrash and wriggle wildly beneath him as he tries to restrain me, our hard cocks clashing together like a pair of duelling swords. He increases the pressure on my wrists as he holds me down, squeezing so tightly that my bones may break. I let out a frustrated groan, trying not to let my enjoyment of this situation cloud my mind as I plan an escape strategy.

He smirks down at me in victory and dips his face downwards to kiss my neck. I take the opportunity to sink my teeth into the flesh of his shoulder blade and am satisfied to hear him moan pleasurably. In turn, his teeth find their way into the skin of my throat and I sigh contentedly. I increase the pressure on his skin a little more and feel him shudder. For someone who doesn't like pain, he seems to be enjoying this. When his teeth tighten their grip on my neck, I almost pass out from the jolt of ecstasy that flashes through my body. My neck is one of my more sensitive areas anyway – to have it abused in such a way it like a glimpse of heaven to me.

Not to be outdone I step things up again, clamping my jaw shut and tugging at his skin violently like a carnivore tearing meat from its victim's carcass. He gasps sharply as he pulls away from me, and I hear a rumbling in his chest as something warm and viscous trickles down my chin. My assault distracts Cartman long enough that I manage to get out from underneath him. I pounce on top of him, licking the blood from my lips. I'm feeling very proud of myself until he yanks my hips downwards to meet his crotch. My triumphant smirk dissolves into an expression of agony and pleasure as my unsuspecting entrance engulfs his hard cock. I throw my head back and moan as our positioning allows him to penetrate me to the fullest.

'Ooh, fuck!'

He grins demonically. 'That hurt?'

'A little.'

'Good.'

He thrusts his hips upwards a few times, bouncing me on his lap as his thick throbbing cock practically tears me apart. The pain is so intense that I'm back to feel light-headed again and almost hit my climax right there and then. But my competitive spirit has taken over me – I'm not giving him the satisfaction of making me come first. I've decided that I'm taking control. Taking a long composing breath inwards, I make myself comfortable in his lap, contracting my internal muscles and squeezing his shaft tightly. He hisses erotically beneath me, his fingernails digging into my sides so hard that I'm fearful he may rip me open this way too. I hold onto his broad shoulders, tensing my muscles and experimentally rolling my hips. I'm rewarded with a harsher more fervent gasp and more delectable pressure on my skin.

I repeat the action over and over, grinding harder every time. As Cartman continues to moan like a little bitch beneath me, I lean forward and lap at the bite mark on his shoulder. This is an odd feeling – I'm still technically 'the bottom', yet I'm in control at the same time. I like this though. The view from up here is interesting. It lets me see things that I don't usually get to see. Like the sweat collecting on his forehead, then beading and cascading down onto his heaving chest. Or the red trails appearing in his skin as I rake his shoulders with my fingernails. Or the sight of his cock below me, balls-deep inside my ass.

I grin joyously as I hear the breath catching in his lungs, a sure sign that he's close to the finish. Just as I'm about to make my final move to bring him off, he grits his teeth in an effort to hold back his climax. Before I can even think of moving I'm almost made to scream as Cartman's strong hands close tightly around my hips, his fingernails digging into my flesh so tightly that blood wells forth from my skin. Overwhelming waves of pleasure wash over my aching body, and I cry out in rapture as Cartman's hips start bucking upwards again. The tip of my pulsating cock brushes against his rotund belly with every thrust, etching an erratic pattern of pre-cum across his soft skin. He glances down towards the incessant prodding and grins at my desirous cock.

'Touch yourself.'

This isn't a suggestion – it's a demand. As much as I'd love to refuse him, I just can't help myself. I tentatively release one of his shoulders and reach down to stroke my cock. It practically jumps into my waiting hand, nuzzling and weeping into the familiar palm. Cartman eyes my cock lustily as I continue to stroke in abandon.

'Come for me...'

'Mmm... Oh God...'

I can't do it! I can't come before him!

'Come on, Kyle...'

As much as I hate myself for it, his urging words coupled with his silken breath hot on my ear are enough to finish me off.

'Ah shit! Mmm...Eric!'

No more than a second after I've released my load across his chest, I feel a shot of heat inside of me as he lets out a thick incoherent purr of climax. Seeing that look of utter bliss on his face is enough to inspire me to kiss the hell out of him once again. He kisses back aggressively and I soon taste blood, though there's no way of telling whose. Not that it matters. Once the thrill of our climaxes subsides, I dismount and collapse at his side. We make eye contact and smirk at each other - it looks like we've been in a war, both covered from head to foot in a rusty mixture of blood, dirt and cum.

Somehow we manage to clamber into the tent and make ourselves comfortable in the mound of sleeping bags we dumped in there earlier. I lay on my back and stare up at the roof of the tent. There's a gaping hole in it, presumably from when a pissed off Eric was attacking the tent with one of its own poles earlier, but I don't say anything. It's not forecast for rain, and we can see the stars this way. Eric curls up next to me and lets his arm drape across my stomach as his eyes start to flutter shut. I yawn sympathetically, fully prepared for some shuteye myself. I can't resist quickly glancing over at my phone one more time first though...

Still nothing from Ike! I sigh heavily, trying to tell myself that there's a logic explanation for him not answering me, that he's probably off on one of his secret missions and doesn't give a crap about the dissolve of our parents' marriage. But at the back of my mind, all I can see is my little brother sitting in his room all alone, crying his eyes out because his family life is in pieces. I try to banish the thought from my head because that just isn't like Ike at all, but somehow the vision still haunts me. And I can't help but wonder whether or not he blames me for all of this. I have no doubt that my mom does. What about my dad – how does he feel deep down inside? Does everyone think it's my fault? Or maybe it's just me who feels that way...

I feel Eric's hand close over mine, covering my cell phone. I look over at him, fully expecting to see his annoyed face ready to chastise me for obsessing over my phone again. Instead, I'm met with a compassionate gaze. Hopefully he's not doing that trick of his where he manages to read my mind. I'm not sure I could deal with talking things out right now...

'You do know it's not your fault, right?' he says softly.

Goddamn it... 'What's not my fault?'

He shakes his head, not buying my act of playing dumb. 'Your family situation. It's not your fault. It's not your fault that your brother's gone AWOL, it's not your fault that your mom is incapable of opening her mind, and it's sure as shit not your fault that your dad has finally wised up to what an insufferable bitch your mom really is. None of this is your fault, and don't you dare ever think otherwise.'

My throat tightens as I nuzzle my face into his shoulder. When his big gentle hands caress my back, my chest convulses as a loud sob escapes my lips. His arms tighten around me in an almost protective way. I know he hates to see me cry and I feel like an idiot for getting so upset, but I just can't help it. I feel like I've been bottling this up for a lifetime. I try so hard to be strong and to look out for everyone else that sometimes I forget that I need my own emotional outlet too.

By the time I'm finished sobbing, my face is burning hot and Eric's neck is soaked with my tears.

'I'm sorry.'

He gives me a strange look. 'For what?'

'I dunno,' I sniff. 'Getting like this, I guess.'

He clucks his tongue. 'Dumbass. Crying is okay. A very special person once told me so.'

I manage a small laugh. 'That's really gay.'

'I know,' he smirks. 'But you look like you need some gayness right now.'

I smile gratefully, but in truth I don't need gayness. I just need him. I need his skin pressed against mine and his fingers in my hair and his lips on my cheek. Needing him and every part of him leaves no question in my mind that I will never regret my decision to be with the person I love. No matter what the sacrifice.

* * * * *

The rest of the trip went great. Better than great, in fact – it was like the more time we spent together, the better we both felt. This is gonna make me sound like such a woman, but this vacation was really good for our relationship. I think we both just really needed the break from reality and when we arrived back home yesterday, I was left with the feeling that we're closer and stronger as a couple than we've ever been before. I guess Eric feels the same – on the bus journey home, he was talking about what a messed up little shithole town South Park is and how we're gonna have to find somewhere better to live when we're finished with school and out in the real world. I couldn't agree more.

More good news came today, when I finally got to speak to Ike. When I asked where he'd been, he said he'd have to kill me if he told me. Either way, he doesn't blame me for our parents splitting. In fact, he was positively fucking euphoric over the news. He was practically singing down the telephone about how cool it was gonna be to get double the amount of Hanukkah presents from now on. I should have known better really. My brother would never blame me for the dumb shit that's transpired between our parents. He's way too smart for that.

He reported to me that Mom and Dad are still living under the same roof for now, which I'll bet feels kinda awkward. On second thought, Dad's never really at home anyway so it's probably doesn't matter all that much. Apparently, Mom is making arrangements to move to New York once the divorce is finalised. I'm a little concerned about this – what if she decides to take Ike with her? But Ike doesn't sound too worried, so I'll try not to think about it for now.

Once I'd finished playing overprotective big brother, I hung up the phone and have been lounging about on the couch ever since. Just as I start to doze off, it suddenly occurs to me that Kenny never called me back. I guess he realised he was being a douche and merrily continued on his quest to hang out and screw hot chicks. I'm glad – my life's just been one big gay drama lately. A little break from all the mayhem isn't asking very much, is it?

I hear footsteps on the staircase behind me. I don't have to look up to know that it's Eric. He's been printing the photographs from our trip all afternoon. He flops down on the couch next to me, sorting through a pile of prints.

'How's the little Canucker?' he asks.

'He's fine,' I say, smiling happily. 'Never better.'

'Told ya so.'

'Yeah yeah,' I roll my eyes at his self-satisfied smirk. 'How'd the pictures turn out?'

I'm handed the small pile of pictures to browse through. There are a lot of beautiful shots and also a few random ones, most of which I don't even remember him taking. Just photos of weird stuff that Eric would typically find interesting or funny - a dead squirrel, a big mound of deer shit, a tree that kinda looks like a gigantic dick, me sleeping on the bus...

Hold on...me sleeping on the bus?

I study the picture in question more closely. God, I look retarded when I'm asleep! There's actually a trail of drool on my chin! Why the hell would Eric want a picture of that? He realises what I'm looking at and snatches the photo back, looking flustered as he hastily tries to hide it behind his back. I smirk, highly amused - he's cute when he blushes.

'What? I was bored on the bus!' he growls defensively. 'I can't sleep on buses the way you can and the journey was lasting forever.'

It's a good feeling, to know that he watches over me while I sleep. It makes me feel safe, I guess. Loved... Adamant to change the subject, he continues to rant.

'Seriously, why couldn't I have just driven us in my mom's car? I know how to drive.'

'You don't have a licence,' I say flatly, returning my attention to the pictures.

'Whatever!' he snorts. 'Driving without a licence is only illegal if you get caught, Kyle!'

I'm about to reply until I see the next picture. It's the one of us kissing on the log. It feels a little odd to look at – I've never seen us kissing before. I always thought we'd look kinda weird as a couple, with our drastically different looks and styles. But we actually look really good together. I think we complement each other very nicely. Eric scoots a little closer to look over my shoulder. Judging by the intrigued look on his face, he's come to the same conclusion.

'We take the perfect picture,' he mutters softly.

I smile in agreement, leaning into him as he lazily rakes his finger through my hair. God, he smells good today... Before I even realise that I've done it, I've captured his lips with mine.

He's right.

We're picture perfect.

* * * * *

_You have no idea how glad I am that that's over with! That was the hardest chapter I've had to write so far. I just had so much trouble getting it to work. I've literally been screaming at my laptop in the dead of night like a lunatic, such has been my frustration. I seriously kept feeling like I just wanted to delete the whole fucking thing and be done with it. If I had a penny for every time I wrote 'Cartman' instead of 'Eric', I'd be a millionaire. However, I'd like to point out that I deliberately called him 'Cartman' for the sex scene. Mostly because I feel that Kyle gets more turned on by the 'Cartman' side of Eric Cartman, and partly because my dad's name is Eric and it's...creepy._

_Apologies for the lack of description and any inaccuracies with regards to the Colorado Springs stuff. I've never been there before and there's only so much that internet research can tell you about a place. Also, about the Kenny/Craig stuff...not entirely sure as of yet where I'm gonna go with that. We shall see..._

_Anyway, in chapter 24, the boys are starting college. I've already made what I guess you could call a 'start' on it, so hopefully it shouldn't be too long until my next update._

_Thanks for reading! See you soon!_

_DD_

_xx_


	24. Envy

_Author Notes: I'm ba-ack! Thanks for all the reading and reviewing you guys have been doing since I last updated all those many moons ago. It still never fails to amaze me when people review saying things like 'I've just spent eight hours reading this whole thing from start to finish'. That's really awesome 'cause by taking the time out of your lives to wade through the entire story, (because let's face it - it's fucking LONG!) it shows me that you guys appreciate the work that I've put into this thing. I also adore my regular readers who have pretty much reviewed religiously after every update from the very first chapter, so a thousand thank yous to every single one of you!_

_It's been a while since my last update (as usual), this time due to a disaster with my laptop, but that's neither here nor there anymore. So finally, here's chapter 24! Enjoy!_

**Chapter 24 - Envy**

A week after Eric and I returned from the Springs, Dad called to let me know that the divorce had been finalised. I guess being a lawyer comes in handy sometimes. They're still living together for now, but Mom is leaving for New York soon and she's planning on taking Ike with her. I could have cried when I heard this, but Dad assures me that it's only on a temporary basis, as he is going to do whatever he can to get custody of Ike. No such battle will occur where I'm concerned though. Apparently, Mom was quite happy to sign over full custody rights of me to Dad. Apparently, I'm quite happy for her to have done so too. Dad said that after Mom leaves he's keeping our family house in South Park for when Ike comes home, and that I'm also welcome to move back in anytime I want. This concept scared me a little – it's great that I'm free to return home, but I really love living with Eric and I think I'd miss it too much. I think he would too - when I told him about the choice I'd been given, he informed me point-blank that I wasn't going anywhere and had Liane confirm that she's more than happy for me to continue staying with them. So that's what I'm going to do.

I was really pleased with the results of my finals – not all As, but I'd got more than I had expected. I was even more impressed by Eric's results though. Don't get me wrong - he didn't make valedictorian or anything, not by a long shot. But his scores were pretty sweet - he'd even managed to get a couple of As himself, in German and Art. I remember getting this warm feeling in my chest when I saw his reaction to the contents of his results envelope. He smiled so wide, looking so proud - not smug, but genuinely proud of himself. Well, I guess slightly smug too. Especially when he found out he'd scored higher in his chosen foreign language than I had. Screw it - who needs French anyway?

In any case, we both had good enough grades to get on the college courses that we wanted. My chosen major is psychology with view to specialising in child psychology, and philosophy as a minor. Eric's taking an art major with some fancy title that neither of us can remember, and German as a minor. I don't think he ever planned to take a minor. I guess his good grades inspired him or something. It's weird, but I could swear that he's been more excited about going to college than I have. He even did a countdown on his calendar leading up to our first day. It felt pretty great to see him so happy about something so positive.

Although Stan also got in at the same college as us, I doubt that he's as enthusiastic about today as we are. Since Wendy made valedictorian, her father forked out the money for her to go to a more exclusive school in Denver. So naturally, I had Stan moping around for hours on end, complaining about how much of a strain the situation is going to be on their relationship. I tried to play the supportive best friend, pointing out that it'll be easier for him to focus without Wendy around. Secretly though, it made me even happier that Eric and I had got into the same school. The conversation took a disturbing turn when Stan told me that he was considering asking Wendy to marry him. He'd even been looking at engagement rings on the Internet. I hastily told him to calm down and think carefully before making any rash decisions. I hate to sound so prosaic, but I'm just being realistic. I have every faith that they'll get married one day – I've had my outfit for the ceremony picked out in my head for years. But Wendy's a girl who knows what she wants, and right now her education is her priority.

As I previously mentioned, Kenny isn't coming to college with us. He wouldn't even tell anyone what his final grades were. I'll bet they were good enough that he could have come to school with us. Ken likes to play the dumb 'too-cool-for-school' blonde, but he's never been academically challenged. It's a shame - I've always believed him to have the potential to do great things with his life, but I guess it just wasn't meant to be. On a positive note, he's looking for a job – and at least when he gets one, he'll instantly become more successful than anyone else in his entire family has ever been. Also, on a lesser note, his infatuation with Craig's cock appears to have run its course. Though I do still get the occasional late night drunken phone call during which Kenny professes his love for another random part of Craig's anatomy. His abs, his ass, his nuts...it varies.

Anyway, enough about Craig Tucker's infamous bod. Here I am on my first day of college, sitting beside Eric in the back of Stan's Cavalier, listening to Butters chattering excitedly in the front seat next to Stan. Oh yeah, Butters got in at our college too. Eric pretended to be deeply disappointed about this, but I think he's really kinda happy about it – he denies it vehemently, but him and Butters are pretty tight. Butters is particularly chipper this morning as one of his pen-pals is also starting at our college and he can't wait to meet up with him. Eric says any friend of Butters must be a 'total lame-o fag'. I guess since he's also such good friends with Butters, this statement must be true.

I feel a rush of excitement as the Park County College campus comes into view. It's not a huge place, but big enough that it runs the courses that we need, and it's only a few miles from the outskirts of town so we don't have to live in the dorms. But still, it's like a whole new chapter of our lives is beginning. I can hear the other three chatting and laughing amongst themselves as we get out of the car, but I don't register half of what they're saying. I'm too focused on my new surroundings. I know it's just a building, but I can't help but feel overwhelmed. I'm at college... I suddenly can't decide if I'm excited or nervous. Either way, it's a great feeling.

Stan glances at his watch and reminds us that we all have places to be very soon. I almost forgot that there are no school bells to rely on anymore. Just as we're about to head off in different directions, I feel a thick hand on my forearm. I smile and look up at Eric, happily receiving a quick goodbye kiss from him before turning towards the social studies block. We've visited this place a couple of times since enrolling, so I roughly know my way around. A couple of people lingering in the doorway stare at me as I pass them, some with slack jawed expressions. I guess they've never seen two guys kiss before...

Ah well. Fuck them.

I quickly locate the room I need and take a deep breath as I push the door open. There's a bunch of kids already here, filling the room to just over half capacity. Force of habit makes me choose a seat towards the front of the class, and I quickly get comfortable and start arranging my stationary onto my desk. As I fish around in my backpack for my pencils, I notice a kid with curly blonde hair sitting to my left, staring at me. Usually when I catch someone doing this I'll ignore it and hope they stop, but for some reason I look up. I definitely don't recognise this kid, but he seems to be looking at me as if he knows me somehow. When he sees that I've caught him staring, he smiles apologetically.

'S-sorry to stare,' he stammers. 'But...your name isn't Kyle, is it?'

Huh? Weird. Guess he knows me after all. I look him over again, but my brain definitely can't place him. He seems kinda jittery, like Tweek but creepier. If that's possible.

'Err...yeah?' I answer slowly.

'And you're friends with Butters Stotch, right?'

The kid seems to relax when I nod confirming this. He leans forward, extending his hand to me.

'My name's Bradley.'

'Butters' pen-pal,' I finish for him as it suddenly dawns on me. 'Nice to meet you.'

He nods, smiling timidly as I reach across to shake his hand. Now I think of it, Butters did mention that his pen-pal was taking psych. I guess I just didn't think that we might end up in the same class.

'Sorry about being so creepy just now,' Bradley mutters sheepishly. 'I didn't mean to weird you out. I just thought I recognised you from a group photo Butters sent me of his friends. I wasn't too sure though...'

'Ah, don't worry about it,' I laugh. 'It takes more than a little creepiness to weird me out.'

Although I must confess that the amount of eye contact this guy is giving me **is** kinda weirding me out. It's like he's trying to hypnotise me or something, with those pale blue eyes of his. Actually, they're more of a green-blue colour, kinda like really clear seawater. They're actually kinda pretty...woah! I blink hard – that's quite enough of that! When I open my eyes again, I realise he's still holding my hand from when he shook it. He must notice the odd look I give him because he abruptly tugs his hand away, chewing at his bottom lip as his eyes dart nervously from left to right. I find myself doing pretty much the same. Man...awkward, huh?

Just as Bradley starts to speak again our professor walks through the door, turning everyone's attention front and center. I breathe a sigh of relief as I settle back in my chair and focus on the professor's introduction to the course syllabus. Not a few minutes later, a small folded piece of notebook paper lands squarely on the desk in front of me. I discreetly pick it up and open it, scanning my eyes over the untidily scrawled note.

'_Sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable just before. I'm just not very experienced at things like this.'_

I assume he means meeting people. It's no wonder he'd rather write to someone than deal with them face to face. I guess not everyone can be a people person – hell, I'm dating the biggest non-people person out there! I snatch up my pencil and quickly scribble down a response.

'_Don't sweat it. You make a hell of a first impression! ;)'_

I hand the note back and watch him hesitantly break into a smile as he reads it. His pen quickly gets to work and the note is back on my desk in a flash.

'_Thanks. So do you. ;)'_

My eyebrow quirks - what the hell is that supposed to mean? Instead of questioning his comment, I decide to just smile politely at him and slip the note into my binder for later disposal. As we return our attention to the professor, I notice Bradley chewing on his thumbnail out of the corner of my eye. Now I think about it, this guy kinda reminds me of Butters. He's sort of got the same naive childlike vibe going on. I guess he's a little odd, but he seems harmless enough. And if he's anything like Butters, he'll be a good friend.

When class is over, we head out into the hallway flicking through our brand new textbooks. I notice Bradley is still regarding me a little apprehensively. He probably still feels funny about earlier.

'Looks like we've got our work cut out for us, huh?' I say light-heartedly, trying to ease the tension.

'Seems that way,' he says with a nervous laugh. 'Say, any idea where I might find Butters? I just wanted to say hi to him real quick.'

'Sure, follow me.'

I have a couple of minutes before my next class starts and I know the other guys do too. We've already chosen the benches outside of the sports science block as our general meeting place so I figure that Butters has probably caught up with Eric and Stan there. Sure enough, the three of them are stood together outside.

'Hey dudes,' I yell as Bradley and I approach.

Eric seems to smile when he hears my voice, but it fades somewhat when he turns and sees Bradley. Butters, on the other hand, is practically ecstatic.

'Bradley!'

His cry of excitement is accentuated by the crushing hug he pulls Bradley into. Stan and Eric both give me a confused look, to which I'm really not quite sure how to respond. When the two blondes separate, I decide to be polite and introduce everyone.

'Guys, this is Bradley. Bradley-'

'Stan and Eric, right?' Bradley cuts in. 'It's so great to finally meet you. Butters has told me so much about you guys in his letters.'

He extends his hand to both of them, smiling in that goofy way of his. Stan is the first taker, followed by a hesitant Eric. I notice he keeps the hand shake very brief and then steps quite deliberately in between myself and Bradley.

'Has he really? Funny, I don't think Butters has ever even mentioned you.'

My eyes roll at Eric's catty remark as automatically as my body inclines towards his when his possessive arm slides around my shoulder. It's like he's using his body to shield me from Bradley. Stan raises an eyebrow at me, apparently noticing Eric's protective stance too. Butters, however, is as oblivious as always.

'Don't be silly, Eric,' he chuckles. 'Of course I've mentioned Bradley. Why, I was talking about him just this morning.'

I could be mistaken, but I could swear that Bradley keeps looking at the arm Eric has around me. I guess Eric notices too, as he accentuates his hold on me by pressing his lips to my cheek. Bradley's eyes seem to narrow ever so slightly before he breaks into another cheerful smile.

'Hey, guess what? Kyle's in my psych class, Butters. Isn't that great?'

I hear a growl rising in Eric's chest as Butters claps his hands excitedly.

'That's awesome!' he exclaims. 'Say, you guys don't mind if Bradley and me disappear together and catch up, do ya?'

Stan shrugs. 'Sure, no problem.'

'Please do,' Eric says tersely.

I give Eric a sharp nudge in the chest with my elbow.

'Stop being an asshole,' I mutter.

He glares at me for that. He can glare all he likes. I've always been aware of his possessive nature, but all he's doing right now is being unnecessarily rude to Bradley for no good reason. Props to Bradley though – he's either doing a great job of pretending not to notice Eric's rudeness or he's just naturally as oblivious to everything as Butters is. He flashes me that awkward smile of his again.

'Well...see you later, Kyle.'

I might be imagining it, but I'm sure as Butters leads him away, he glances back over his shoulder at me. Maybe I'm just being paranoid. I turn to look at Eric, who appears to be glaring a hole in Bradley's back. Perhaps I'm not so paranoid after all...

'He seems like a nice enough guy,' Stan remarks.

I nod. 'Yeah, it's good to not be totally surrounded by strangers.'

'Hey, that reminds me. Remember Brydon Gueermo? He's in my sports science class.'

'Dude, isn't he younger than us?'

'Yeah, but he got bumped up a grade a couple of years ago.'

'Oh, that's pretty cool.'

'Anyone familiar faces in your art class, Cartman?' Stan asks.

Eric is still staring off into the distance after Bradley when Stan's voice snaps him out of it. I wonder what this instant dislike for Bradley is all about. I'll have to bust his balls over it later.

'Nope,' he answers curtly. 'Though I got off to a great start when some dickhole asked if I was a faggot in front of everyone.'

Sounds like he's had a crappy morning so far. Maybe he's just in a bad mood and Bradley just happened to catch the brunt of it. Stan cringes sympathetically.

'That's rough, dude. How'd you handle that?'

Eric snorts. 'How do you think? I said 'hell yeah, I'm a faggot! And if you don't like it, then feel free to suck on my balls!''

'Yeah, that sounds about right,' Stan sniggers.

'I got some funny looks after kissing you earlier too,' I murmur. 'I guess some people around here have a problem with gays or something.'

'This place is much bigger than South Park, guys,' Stan says. 'There's gonna be people from all walks of life here, and some of them have probably never spent any time around gays before.'

'Yeah well,' Eric growls. 'They'd better get used to it.'

Stan's right though. I guess we can't always expect total tolerance wherever we go. Just look at that guy from the amusement park – everyone we meet is going to have a different view on homosexuals. We just need to learn to expect some degree of negativity sometimes, and learn to deal with it. Stan glances down at his watch and sighs.

'Anyway, we'd better be getting to our next classes.'

I nod. 'Guess so. Catch you later, guys.'

As I go to leave I give Eric's ass a quick squeeze, which seems to put the smile back on his face. I can feel his eyes on my back, watching me as I walk away. I briefly turn around to at him wink playfully, grinning to myself when he looks all embarrassed that he's been caught. When I turn back to face forwards, I collide with the person coming in the other direction. We both let out startled cries, each of us turning the air ever so slightly blue. I quickly regain my composure and see that this guy looks like a senior. A very tall senior with a skinhead haircut and a ridiculously muscular build – seriously, this guy makes Stan look like Woody Allen. It feels like I walked into a brick wall, not a person. I don't know how I managed to keep my balance, but I did. I didn't manage to maintain a grip on my new textbook though. Just as I'm about to apologise, he beats me to it.

'Sorry about that, buddy.'

The gentle Southern inflection in his voice reassures me enough that I smile.

'My fault, dude. I wasn't looking where I was going.'

He shrugs, offering me a friendly grin. 'Ah, no harm done. Here, let me get that for you.'

The guy kindly reaches down to pick up my textbook. Looks like I'm having more luck with new people today than Eric is. As he goes to hand me my book, I notice him staring at the inside cover where I wrote my name earlier. He looks up at me, his eyes slightly narrowed.

'Broflovski?'

'Yeah?'

The second I nod, the textbook is whipped away from me. It crashes into a nearby wall, causing the front cover to come loose. Oh great, that's gonna look wonderful! I've only had the damn thing ten minutes and it's already in fucking pieces. Just as I'm about to ask this douche what his damage is, I'm silenced by the downright hateful look in his eye.

'I didn't realise they were letting fucking kikes in here,' he spits.

Oh. An anti-Semite. Peachy... I suppose I could get defensive, but I don't have time for this shit. Besides, since this guy looks like he eats things for breakfast that are bigger than me, I don't really rate my chances. Turning away from him, I reach down to retrieve my battered textbook, but I'm stopped when my wrist is grabbed in a crushing grip. I cry out as I'm pulled back around, forced to face the muscle-bound senior again. His steel blue eyes bore into mine.

'Don't ignore me, you fucking heeb!' he hisses. 'Your kind isn't welcome around here.'

I'm stunned. Actually, terrified would probably be more accurate. Before I can think to say something in my defence, the pressure on my wrist releases as something pushes past me at high speed. The next thing I'm aware of is that asshole face down on the ground as Eric stands over him, fists clenched. The expression on his face sends chills down my spine. I've never seen him looking so angry. Stan comes running over to my side as the senior staggers to his feet. He glares at Eric dangerously.

'What's your problem, fat boy?'

Eric doesn't reply as he eyeballs his opponent, probably trying to work out the most efficient way to murder him. The senior lunges, but all he gets for his trouble is Eric's fist in his face. Both Stan and I seem to come to our senses at the same time, diving forward and attempting to wrestle the two apart.

'Eric, cut it out!' I cry.

He ignores me, snarling in frustration as the senior manages to wriggle his way out of the headlock Eric had him in. Before he can gain any momentum though, Eric kicks him in the balls. The second the guy hits the ground, Eric pounces on him, clamping his hands tightly around that thick muscular neck.

'Cartman! Dude, let him go!' Stan yells.

Again, the request falls on deaf ears as the senior starts to splutter.

'Nobody touches my Jew like that!' Eric screams into the slightly purple face. 'Do you fucking hear me?'

It doesn't take long before a couple of passing teachers get involved and manage to help Stan and me pry Eric off of his adversary. Judging by the look in Eric's eyes, it's just as well they came by. I'm really not sure he would have let go otherwise. It takes me a moment to recognise one of the teachers as the dean of students. Shit. Just our luck! He pulls Eric around to face him as the other teachers help the gasping senior to his feet.

'Eric Cartman, I take it?' the dean says gruffly. 'I see that your reputation precedes you.'

Eric stares at him blankly, throwing his arms up in exasperation. 'What the fuck is that supposed to mean?'

Stan and I exchange worried glances as the dean's face darkens.

'My office, Mr Cartman. Now.'

* * * * *

The rest of the day went by quickly. I'm glad the professors eased us in gently today. I really don't think I could have concentrated if we'd been given anything indepth to work on. All I could think of was Eric's behaviour this morning. At first, I was really angry at him. Picking a fight with someone on your first day of college is not a smart move. But I guess the more I thought about it, the less angry and more understanding of his reasons for it I became. Don't get me wrong, I'm not condoning his behaviour and will no doubt yell at him about it at some point in the not so distant future. But if the shoe had been on the other foot and someone had said something to Eric like 'I can't believe they let a fat son of a whore like you in here', I probably would have felt like knocking seven shades of shit out of them too.

I suppose in a way it's kinda flattering, having my man fight for my honour like that. I know I sound like a chick again, but fuck it.

After school Stan, Butters and I are waiting by the car for ten minutes before Eric makes an appearance. No-one makes any smartass comments when he mutters an apology under his breath and we all quickly file into the car. As Stan pulls away from the campus, I slide my hand on top of Eric's, squeezing soothingly.

'What happened with the dean?' I ask gently.

'I've been issued an official warning from the college,' Eric sighs. 'If I put one more foot wrong, I'm out.'

'Well geez, that seems kinda harsh,' Butters remarks.

Eric snorts. 'Apparently it's not when you have a track record like mine.'

I guess that sounds about right. It probably didn't help that the senior who's ass he kicked happened to be the dean's nephew, and the captain of the college football team.

No more is said of the incident and Butters goes onto tell us everything he could possibly think of about Bradley, which clearly does nothing to improve Eric's mood. Apparently, they met about eight years ago at some retarded camp that tries to turn gay people straight. Butters also seems to think that Bradley is bi-curious - or at least he was when they first met. Other than his awkward weirdness, I can't say for sure that I got any obvious 'gay vibes' from Bradley earlier. But then again, I never really got any from Eric either.

Stan drops Butters off first, outside of the hair salon where Porsche has an apprenticeship. As soon as the car door slams shut behind Butters, Eric lets out an exaggerated sigh of relief. I snigger at this, leaning into him tiredly as his arm slips around my shoulder. Stan observes us in his rear view mirror, but he doesn't say anything and I don't hear his stomach acid percolating so it's cool. Nobody says anything for the rest of the journey, and we just enjoy the peace now that we're free from the constant stream of chattering.

It's not long before we pull up outside of Eric's place. Technically it's my place too, but let's not split hairs. I thank Stan for the ride and wave him off as he pulls away. He's been very brave today - I was expecting him to be pining over Wendy all day long, but he's barely mentioned her. I'm glad he's learning to cope so quickly.

'Well, come on. Let's hear it.'

I turn to face Eric, who's standing on the sidewalks arms folded, watching me expectantly.

'Hear what?' I ask.

'"You shouldn't have hit that guy, Cartman. You should have turned the other cheek, you shouldn't have interfered, blah-blah blah-blah blah!"'

Goddamn it, I hate it when he imitates my voice!

'Well I'm sorry, but I couldn't help it,' he continues in his own distinct drawl. 'I'm not allowing some fucking scrotum-head to grab hold of you like that. And I heard what he called you. If I can't use that word around you, I'll be damned if I'm gonna let some other fucker get away with doing it.'

That's pretty much the logic I expected to hear. For some reason, I grin. I guess it's because I can't really argue with him – I knew long before I got with him that he was an irrational fucknut. No use in complaining about it now. He arches an eyebrow at me.

'What the hell are you smiling at? Why aren't you saying anything? Aren't you gonna start busting my balls?'

I don't, but imagine his surprise when I wrap my arms around his neck and plant a chaste kiss on his mouth instead.

'I think you're doing a pretty good job of that on your own,' I murmur.

He grins tentatively, giving my ass an affection stroke before pulling back from me and leading the way up to the house. Fuck it, he knows he made a mistake – he doesn't need me telling him what he already knows, especially after the kind of day he's had. I follow Eric through the front door and we both head straight upstairs to chill out. As I sit at the desk fixing the cover on my psych textbook with some tape, Eric grabs his towel from the back of the bedroom door. He lingers in the doorway for a moment, looking over at me.

'That Bradley faggot totally has a boner for you,' he suddenly remarks.

I don't look up from what I'm doing. 'Oh, so that's why you were acting like such a macho prick earlier?'

'I'm seriously, Kyle.'

I sigh, reluctantly looking up. Low and below, I'm met with his 'seriously' face.

'Dude, just because he's bi-curious or whatever, doesn't mean he-'

'That has nothing to do with it,' he interrupts. 'I saw the way he was looking at you earlier and I didn't like it.'

'You only saw him for about five seconds.'

'That was four seconds longer than what I needed to figure him out.'

Jesus Christ! Figure him out how exactly? Bradley didn't do anything. I could perhaps understand Eric saying something if he'd witnessed our little moment in psych class the morning. Though it's probably just as well that he didn't... What the hell am I saying? Bradley and I didn't have a 'moment'. Just an awkward interaction, is all.

'Don't be ridiculous,' I say, waving my hand dismissively. 'So what if he's looking at me? It's not gonna change the fact that I'm 'your Jew', is it? And even if I wasn't, he's so not my type. I like big-boned brunette assholes, remember. He's none of those things.'

'**I** think he's an asshole. And I don't trust him.'

I roll my eyes. 'Green isn't a good colour on you, Cartman.'

The poor idiot actually looks down at what he's wearing before realising what I'm implying.

'Fuck you, Kyle.'

With that he flips me off and slams the bedroom door behind him. I finish fixing my book, then cross the room to lay on the bed, closing my eyes as I listen to the shower running in the bathroom. Eric can be such a jealous overprotective asshole sometimes. I guess I don't mind that much – it's just another part of the complex puzzle that is Eric Cartman. I don't know why he'd be jealous of Bradley though. Yeah, the guy's smart and seems to have intellectual interests similar to mine, and his eyes are kind of a pretty colour. But like I said, even if I was single he's totally not what I'd go for. Blond weirdoes aren't my thing. They were when I first realised I was gay, but I've grown a lot since then.

I open my eyes when the bedroom door opens. Eric enters wrapped in a towel, dripping wet. I make no effort to hide the fact that I'm watching him as he dries himself off, observing as his thick hands run over his yielding flesh. My blatant interest doesn't go unnoticed and he flashes me a saucy smirk. Yeah, blondes definitely aren't my thing. I would assume that redheads haven't always been Eric's thing, due to his anti-ginger standpoint. I wonder...

'Can I ask you something?'

Eric shrugs as he tugs a pair of boxers up over his hips. 'Depends what it is.'

'Who was the first guy you ever looked at?'

I shuffle along to make room for him as he joins me on the bed, laying on his side to face me.

'You mean the first man I ever had impure thoughts about?'

'Yeah.'

He looks thoughtful for a second then grins.

'David Duchovny.'

I blink. 'Huh?'

'You know, that dude from The X Files? He's fucking hot. I'd let him give me an anal probe any day.'

I roll my eyes. 'I mean a guy that you knew in real life, r-tard.'

The grin vanishes and he suddenly looks a little uncomfortable. Interesting...

'Oh...well...you, of course,' he stammers.

'Bullshit,' I shake my head. 'You told me you knew that you were gay when you were twelve. You've only liked me since you were fourteen.'

'So?'

'So the dates don't add up, Eric. You must have liked someone else, otherwise how else the hell would you have known that you were definitely gay?'

'Alright, Detective Dickhead!' he snaps. 'You're right, you weren't my first crush. I just don't wanna tell you who it was.'

'Aw, come on! It can't be that bad. I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours.'

'No.'

I sigh deeply. 'Okay then, I'll guess...was it...Clyde?'

Eric makes a face at that. 'No way! He was always way too much of a pussy.'

'How about Kenny?'

'Too poor.'

'Token?'

'Too black.'

'Craig?'

'Too much of an asshole.'

'...Butters?'

'Fuck no! Only airheaded retards would ever go for a freak like Butters!'

'Well, I guess I'm an airheaded retard then.'

It takes him a second or two to digest what I've just said. His eyes widen to the size of saucers as he stares at me incredulously.

'What the fuck?' he splutters. 'No way! Are you shitting me? You're shitting me, aren't you?'

I shake my head. 'I shit you not.'

Eric's chin drops so close to his chest that I'm pretty sure I can see where his tonsils used to be. He looks absolutely sickened by this revelation. It's really kind of funny.

'Butters?! You had a crush on Leopold Butters butt-fucking Stotch?!'

I shrug. 'He was my first crush.'

'Jesus tap-dancing Christ!'

'What's wrong with Butters?'

Eric crinkles his nose in disgust. 'Where do I begin? Gross! Seriously, Kyle!'

'He's not that bad!' I snigger. 'I just thought he was cute, is all.'

'He's not exactly in keeping with your supposed 'type'.'

'He was my **first** crush,' I repeat flatly. 'I didn't know what I wanted in a man back then. Tell me yours now.'

'Hell no.'

I frown at the stubborn shake of his head. 'Be fair, asshole! I told you mine.'

'So? I didn't **ask** for yours. You offered up that hideous piece of information all on your own. How about we just change the subject?'

'How about you just tell me?'

'How about I don't?'

I let out a frustrated sigh. 'Alright then. If you don't want to talk about this, let's discuss the morality of what you did to that guy today instead. On one hand, we could say that you were in the right since you wanted to-'

'Okay! I'll tell you!' he cries, cringing visibly. 'Just don't get started with your Jew-nalysis and Jew ethics!'

He glares when I smirk at him victoriously. I knew that would work.

'Understand that it was strictly a 'damn, would I ever love to tap that fine ass' kind of crush,' he says firmly. 'Nothing emotional, nothing special and nothing - **nothing **- like what I feel for you. Got it?'

I feel my heart flutter a little at how vigorously he emphasises on that last part. 'Okay.'

'And you have to promise not to make a big deal about it, or hold it against me.'

I nod, my brain desperately trying to work out who he's talking about...

'And if you ever tell him, I will kill you without hesitation.'

My intrigue has officially hits its peak.

'I won't tell. Who?'

He opens his mouth then hesitates, chewing hard on his bottom lip. He sighs deeply and speaks just as I'm about to prompt him once again.

'Stan.'

'... Stan?' I echo dumbly. 'Stan Marsh?'

He rolls his eyes impatiently. 'Well how many other Stans do you know, retard?'

I don't know any other Stans. I just know one - Stan Marsh, who happens to be my best friend. My **super** best friend, who my boyfriend apparently used to have a crush on! Okay, I can't go getting worked up over this. I can't allow myself to freak out like Eric did about me liking Butters. I just have to act cool, nonchalant...

'Sweet fucking Moses! You liked Stan?!'

'No, I didn't **like** Stan!' Eric argues. 'I already told you, I just lusted after him for a while. There's a difference.'

'But...' I fumble to find my words. 'Why Stan?'

He shrugs. 'I dunno. He's just a good looking dude.'

Yes, he is. Stan is a very good looking dude. I was all too aware of this when I was growing up. Even though we've always been best friends, I've always felt kind of awkward next to him. It sounds stupid, but I always felt as if people would look at us and think 'Woah, check out that hot jock and his ugly dorky looking ginger sidekick.' I didn't resent him for being born better looking than me or anything as retarded as that, but it kinda made me paranoid that no-one would ever even look twice at me with Stan around to outshine me. I guess it kinda makes me feel sad to think that he shone so brightly that even Eric noticed him over me at some point. God, that sounds really dumb. I know I shouldn't be letting this bother me, but it does.

'I can't believe you used to like my best friend,' I say softly.

'Exactly, **used to**,' Eric say firmly. 'Will you let it go already?'

'Do you still think he's hot?'

'No! He's a fucking pussy.'

'He's still way better looking than me though.'

'Yeah well, looks aren't everything.'

Not what I wanted to hear! It's clear from Eric's face that he realises this.

'Err...what I meant to say was Stan is good looking in a generic sorta way, whereas your unique colouring gives you a more special, exotic look.'

'Uh huh...'

Eric sighs heavily. 'You see? This is exactly why I didn't want to tell you! Look, my point is I didn't **like** like Stan, and I certainly never loved him. I just wanted to fuck him. Fuck knows why. I'm pretty sure he'd be completely useless in that particular department.'

I smirk at this. 'What, fucking another dude? Probably, since he throws up at the sight of two guys kissing.'

'Yeah, totally!' Eric sniggers. 'I bet he'd cry if you fucked him, even if you went gently.'

The smile quickly leaves my face. Does he really think that's an appropriate thing to say? Eric detects my dismay and shrugs.

'What? All I'm saying is he's a whiny little pussy. He'd probably cry if he was the one **doing** the fucking too. And those skinny lips of his would be totally ineffective for a good hard ball-sucking.'

'Cartman, that's my best friend you're talking about!' I snap.

'Well, well. Green doesn't look so good on you either, Kyle.'

I scowl over at his smug grinning face. 'There's a bit of a difference between you getting worked up over a virtual stranger eyeing me up, and me getting worked up because you're talking about fucking my best friend, fatass!'

'Green is green, my dearest Jew.'

'Alright, if that's the way you want it...'

I sit up and clear my throat. We'll see who's green...

'You know who has the most perfect ball-sucking lips? Butters. I think he'd need a lot of instruction on how to use them, but he'd be ideal if you like that whole innocent little schoolboy thing. And you know what, it's a shame Ken isn't gay. But I bet he fucks girls so often that he's bound to get bored and want to try a cock in his ass someday. His pain threshold is pretty damn high so he'd take to anal like a duck to water.'

Eric eyes me like I've lost my mind. 'What are you doing?'

'Oh, I'm sorry,' I exclaim, grinning sardonically. 'I thought that we were openly discussing the sexual potential of our best friends. You know, I bet Craig would be a real demon in the sack with all his experience and that monster cock of his.'

He rolls his eyes. 'Okay, I get it.'

'What do you think Bradley's like in bed? He'd probably be really clumsy at first, but-'

'Enough!'

The tone in his voice makes me jump. I can tell by the look in his eyes that I've pushed him too far.

'You've made your point, loud and clear,' he snaps. 'There's no need to be so fucking childish.'

He looks really pissed off. Maybe I took it a little too far with the Bradley remark. I reach out and squeeze his hand apologetically.

'You're right. I'm sorry.'

He doesn't move his hand but he still looks away from me moodily. Goddamn it... I lean forward and trail soft persistent kisses across his mouth until he starting kissing back. I even get the slightest flicker of tongue – a sure sign that I'm not totally in his bad books. Before long, he's moved onto his back and pulled me on top of him, entwining his fingers in my hair as he kisses me harder. When we both run out of breath, we part and I snuggle up to his side, glad to have been forgiven. Eric looks down at me, a curious expression on his face.

'How the hell do you know Craig has a monster cock?'

'Wouldn't you like to know?' I laugh.

He smirks. 'Slut.'

We lay there silent for a little while. I nuzzle into his body, finding that he's still slightly warm from the shower. I wish I'd thought to sneak into the bathroom behind him. It's been ages since we've had a shower together. We should probably start taking advantage of when we have the house to ourselves more often. That reminds me... I look over at Eric's alarm clock. It's getting kinda late.

'Shouldn't your mom be home by now?'

He nods, not even looking at the clock. 'Yeah. She's been sneaking off on her own at random times of the day a lot lately.'

'You don't think that she's...'

I can't finish my sentence. Eric sighs, his arms tightening around me.

'I don't know. I fucking hope not. Not after she's worked so hard to pull herself out of all that shit. I guess old habits die hard though.'

'Are you gonna say anything to her?'

He shakes his head. 'Nah. I mean, what if I'm wrong? I don't wanna upset her. Let's just give it time. It's probably nothing. I mean, she's a career woman now. She's probably just off getting facials and haircuts and shit. I'm just worrying too much...fuck, I'm turning into you.'

I reach up and tug one of his ears for that, but it just makes him laugh.

'So other than spending an hour in the dean's office and having assholes outing you in front of everyone, how did the rest of today go?' I ask.

'It was pretty sweet,' he says with a sincere smile. 'I'm actually enjoying school for once in my life. We're doing life drawings in a few months.'

'What's that?'

'It's when they get people to come in and sit in front of you naked so you can draw the human body. It's not as exciting as it sounds though. They're never lookers.'

'Maybe you can convince Stan to model for you.'

He glares at me, but he can see that I'm genuinely joking. I feel like such a Grade A douche, getting so worked up because my boyfriend used to like my best friend. I'm such a fucking girl sometimes, it makes me sick.

'No thanks. I'd be happy to let** you** model for me though,' Eric smirks. 'You'd be perfect.'

I roll my eyes derisively. 'That's nice, considering that you just said the models are never lookers!'

'Well, you'd be breaking the mould, naturally. The world's first smokin' hot Jewish life drawing model...'

He pushes me onto my back and rolls on top of me, pinning my wrists down either side of my head. He leans back on my hips and looks down at me, licking his lips in appreciation.

'What d'ya say?' he purrs. 'I could make you a work of art.'

I arch my hip into his, smiling flirtatiously. 'But my body's already a work of art.'

Eric raises an eyebrow in amusement. 'Cocky, much?'

'I guess that's you rubbing off on me, huh?'

'I wouldn't mind **you** rubbing **me **off right now.'

'I thought you wanted to draw me.'

'I do. Get your fucking clothes off.'

He allows me to sit up and I start leisurely unbuttoning my shirt. I can see his eyes fixated on my fingers and the pale flesh that they work at gradually exposing. Once I've wriggled out of my shirt and tossed it aside, I loosen the top button on my jeans and slide the zipper down slowly. Still watching me intently, Eric moves from on top of me, allowing me to stand by the bed and slide my jeans down over my hips to the floor. I step out of the denim puddle and kick the pile of blue material out of the way. Placing my hands on my hips, I flash my best seductive smile as Eric observes my half naked form, hunger burning in his eyes.

'May I do the honours?'

He gestured towards my black boxer-briefs. I nod, stepping towards him as he moves to sit on the edge of the bed. When I'm in front of him, he takes hold of the thin material and gently tugs it down to my ankles. He eyes my semi-erect cock, a low approving groan rumbling in the back of his throat. I feel his fingertips stroke up the back of my legs and I shudder. His strong hands squeeze my ass firmly as he places a light kiss on the taut skin just below my bellybutton.

'Don't be shy, Kyle,' he mutters. 'You just relax. I'll get everything ready.'

He motions for me to sit back on the bed, and I do so as he gets to his feet and approaches his desk. He quickly pulls out some art supplies and arranges them on the bedroom floor. I'm not really watching what he's doing – I'm more interested in the very obvious tent that he's pitching in his boxers. When he's finished, he looks over at me and grins, beckoning me with a curl of his index finger. I slide off the bed and walk over to him. I see that he's laid a sheet down on the bedroom floor, with many brushes and palettes of paint scattered across it.

'Now lie down on your front,' he orders.

'My front?'

'This part,' he says, poking my nipple with a paintbrush.

'Yeah, I know,' I frown defensively. 'I just thought that you'd-'

I'm cut short when the tip of the paintbrush is pressed against my lips. Thankfully, it doesn't have any paint on it yet.

'Let me make this clear, Kyle,' Eric says evenly. 'I am the artist. The artist directs. The dumb beautiful Jew model just does as he's told. Capiche?'

I'm very excited to see that he's in a commanding mood tonight. I bite my bottom lip and run my hand through my hair thoughtfully, the way I'd assume a ditzy model would.

'Yes, Mr Artist.'

I notice his eyebrow quirk at my husky tone as I drop to my knees on the sheet. I smooth it out with my hands, feeling the fine cool material on my fingertips as I slide down on my front.

'Nice,' Eric remarks. 'Very nice.'

The wicked grin in his voice is unmistakable. I'll take it he approves of the view. My ass is one of my best features, after all. I make myself comfortable as Eric rattles a palette and brush behind me. After a moment of silence, he sighs.

'Damn. You know what? I don't have a canvas.'

He drops down on his knees next to me, his breath hot on my ear as he speaks.

'I guess I'll just have to improvise...'

Something wet and cold presses against the nape of my neck, startling me.

'Jesus!' I hiss.

'Sshh.'

As the paintbrush slowly trails down my spine to the center of my back, I feel my body starting to react to the gentle stimulation. When the brush reaches the small of my back, I gasp softly as it traces spiral patterns around my tailbone, then gradually travels back up to the middle of my back again. My lungs contract in my chest as the teasing bristles start tickling the tight skin covering my ribs. My brain tries to decipher the shapes Eric is making from the way the brush is moving on my skin. A star, a heart, a triangle... I briefly wonder if he's made the triangle purple. I make a mental note to check later and kick his ass accordingly.

When he's decided that he's worked on my back for long enough, he moves slightly outwards to the sensitive skin on the inside of my arms. I breathe in shakily through my teeth as I glance over my shoulder. I can actually see what he's doing now, marking my skin with wavy lines of dark blue paint. I think I'd actually prefer not to look though – it's so much more tantalising when you don't know where the next brushstroke is coming from. As he continues to doodle on my skin, I can feel my nipples becoming increasingly hard and tingly. It's hard to believe that I'm getting so turned on from being used as a piece of posterboard.

All of this artistic inspiration hasn't been lost on my cock either – it prods relentlessly at the protective sheet below me, like a child banging its fists on the ground in a bid for attention. The prodding becomes more insistent when Eric moves downwards, swirling the brush over the skin at the back of my knees. I moan thickly and my hips buck ever so slightly, causing my throbbing cock to brush against the smooth material of the sheet beneath me. The paintbrush begins sliding up and down my inner thigh, making my inside tremble violently.

'You like the way that feels?'

I jump when I hear Eric's voice, groaning as my cock humps into the sheet once again.

'Mm-hm,' I manage to reply.

'It gets better,' he purrs, voice dripping with promise. 'Spread your legs a little.'

I do so instantly, and I'm vaguely aware of Eric chuckling in approval of my speedy compliance. I gasp out something incoherent as the moist tip of the paintbrush caresses my tightening balls. When he's finished colouring in my nuts with small circular motions, he slides the brush upwards over the crack of my ass and skilfully traces the outline of the taut entrance.

'You like finger-painting, Kyle?'

Taken aback by the odd question, I glance over my shoulder and take note of Eric's perverted smirk. He sets the paintbrush aside and presses his hand down into the center of a palette. He raises his hand to show the coating of red paint on his palm, and then extends his index finger forward in a signal for me to look away. The second I turn my face forwards, he brings his heavy hand down hard across my left ass cheek. I yelp in surprise, the sound fading into another moan as my skin tingles and my cock continues to swell between my thighs.

'Want a matching pair?' he growls.

I nod breathlessly, panting like a bitch in heat in anticipation of the second strike. When it comes, I toss my head back and groan rapturously as my hips buck forward once again. I swear my cock is gonna burst if it doesn't get some attention soon. I'm not able to think of my cock for long when familiar fingers start stroking the outer rim of my puckered entrance. They teasingly slide a little way inside of me, and then pull out again just before they reach my prostate. I cry out in response to the sheer frustration that this torture is causing me, bucking my hips upwards to coax the fingers further inside. Unfortunately, when I do this they withdraw completely, leaving me to whimper at the feeling of emptiness I'm left with.

'Aw, Kyle,' Eric coos. 'Is your poor little butthole feeling lonesome?'

Before I can answer, I'm treated to the feeling of Eric's lips dancing across the back of my neck. As he moves to ensure that he pays attention to the entire area, I feel the bare skin of his chest sliding across the slick skin of my back. The wet paint feels like a layer of silk between us, and I subconsciously arch my back against him. The contours of my spine brush against his nipples and feel him moan against my neck in response. Just when I thought things couldn't get any better, something hard and slick slides into my tight passage. Eric pulls back just in time for me to be able to passionately throw my head back without knocking his teeth out. Once my initial shock is over, Eric leans into me and whispers in my ear.

'You like that, Kyle?' he growls. 'I'll bet you'll like this even more...'

I let out a fervent scream as he bites down on my earlobe and continues to fuck me with the thick wooden handle of his paintbrush. The pleasure-pain concoction is enough to send my senses into overdrive, and I screw my eyes shut as my hips start bucking wildly once again. Eric's teeth release my ear and move to ravage my neck, nipping and sucking at my pale skin with an insane amount of ferocity.

'Cum for me, Kyle,' he groans in between bites.

All the nerves in my body appear to be on fire from all the stimulation I've received, and it doesn't take me long before I've exploded across the sheet with a muted scream. Eric gently removes the brush handle from inside me and continues to kiss my neck as I get my breath back. I recover quickly, though I'm still tingling from head to foot. With a contented smirk, I roll onto my back and pull Eric on top of me. His lips meet mine at full force, his tongue probing my mouth earnestly. When he pulls back from me, I look down at the paint smears across his chest.

'Pretty pointless taking that shower, huh?'

He smirks at me. 'I'm sure we can make up for the wasted time somehow.'

I glance around the room at the mess we've made so far. Being an artist is fun. With that in mind, I reach out to the nearest palette and grab for the paintbrush I find resting in it. Eric watches as I bring the brush to my face. Red – one of his favourite colours. Perfect. I start by running the damp bristles around the outside of his nipples, then lazily flicking the hardened buds in the center with the brush's tip. He sighs deeply as I etch a red line down the middle of his torso, encircling his bellybutton a couple of times before continuing further down. For some reason, I've only just noticed that he's lost his boxers somewhere along the way, and his very erect cock speaks volumes about how much he's been enjoying our private little art class. I see no reason to keep him waiting any longer.

Abandoning the brush, I take Eric's hard cock in my paint-stained hand and caress it with firm even strokes. His eyes become half-lidded as his breathing speeds up, and his hips twitch as his shaft seems to get hotter and harder in my hand. I release his cock and give his taut balls a loving squeeze as I reach up with my free hand to toy with his bright red nipples. I don't have to play with him for long before I can tell he's ready. I look up and down the length of his gasping body, admiring my handiwork.

'You have a multi-coloured cock,' I giggle.

Amid his panting, Eric manages to muster a playful smirk.

'Guess that means you'll be taking a multi-coloured dump later.'

'Gross, du-'

My exclamation is silenced as he kisses me deeply, pressing his hard cock against the cheeks of my ass. I wrap my arms around his neck, sighing as the paint from his chest transfers to mine as our bodies come together. My legs encircle his waist as he descends upon me, burying his stiff cock into my slick entrance. Oh God, this feels so much better than the paintbrush. I clamp down on his shaft as he thrusts inside me and am gratified to hear him moan in response. He quickly builds up a rhythm, his balls slapping against the paint soaked skin of my ass as he pounds into me. I whimper in his ear, giving him a little further stimulation by digging my fingernails into his shoulder blades. The low grunt he offers in return is music to my ears, and I continue to add more pressure the harder he fucks me.

After maintaining a steady rhythm for a few moments, I can tell from the sudden change in his pace that he's close. Just as he starts to make that telltale noise, he bites his lip and grins down at me.

'And now for the finishing touch...'

He removes my legs from around his waist as he quickly pulls out of me. I watch in fascination as he starts stroking himself in abandon. He lets out a strangled groan and finally blows his load across my chest. I sigh feverishly as wave after wave of hot sticky cum splashes out onto my skin. When he's finished, Eric collapses breathless beside me. I run my fingers through his hair soothingly as he regains his composure. He looks over at the state of my body and nods approvingly.

'Beautiful,' he whispers.

'I make a good model then?' I ask coyly.

'The best...'

He smiles at me adoringly and I feel my face suddenly become unbearably hot. I hate him seeing me blush, so I lean up and capture his lips to distract him. He kisses back softly, running his fingers through my matted sweat-soaked hair. He pulls back suddenly, an inspired twinkle in his eye.

'Be right back.'

He slowly clambers to his feet and exits the room, still naked and covered in paint. I lay back and enjoy the odd combined smell of sex and paint for a few minutes before deciding to make myself useful and start tidying up the mess we've made. I'm almost done when Eric returns. He grins wordlessly, taking my hand and leading me to the bathroom. He gestures towards the corner tub, which is filled with hot water and bubbles. Good thinking, considering the mess we're both in.

Eric steps into the water first and I follow suit. It's kind of a tight fit, but I have absolutely no problem nestling between Eric's thighs with my ass pressed against his cock to economise on space. The water instantly turns a murky greyish-blue colour as the paint starts to shed from our bodies. I lean my back against Eric's chest, nuzzling into his soft flesh as his hands get to work cleaning me off. He likes to do this occasionally – take a bath or shower with me after sex and cleanse my skin. I guess it's like some sort of strange paternal type thing, I don't know. I've never really questioned why he does it. Mostly because I like it so much.

He massages my sullied skin with his wet hands, paying particular attention to my ass and groin. I get the feeling he's lost sight of the task at hand when he starts gently stroking my cock. He must be feeling bad that I didn't cum a second time before. I close my eyes and moan softly as I lean back against him, feeling the cock pressed to the small of my back growing harder by the second. When I open my eyes, I notice in the bathroom mirror that Eric's watching me. Not with his usual look of lust, but with a look of deep deliberation.

'What's the matter?' I ask.

He doesn't say anything for a moment, studying my face in our reflection with such intensity that I have to tear my eyes away. He quite often gets like this after sex – all quiet and broody and sappy. It's a little weird, but very pleasant for the most part.

'I just don't know how I could have wasted time all those years ago eyeing up Stan when I could have been looking at you.'

Not this again... 'Dude...'

He releases my cock and cups my chin in his hand, turning my face to look at his.

'I'm seriously, Kyle. I don't think anyone or anything could look as incredible as you do right now. I'd gladly take exotic over generic, every time.'

I think my smile lights up the room. I love it when he talks to me like that.

'And I'd take your sadistic fat Nazi ass over some dorky blonde's scrawny ass any day.'

He grins complacently, pressing his lips firmly to mine as his hand travels back down my body to finish what he's started. It makes me wonder why the hell we bother wasting time arguing over stupid little things when we could be doing stuff like this instead. There's really no reason for jealousy in our relationship. No force on earth, human or otherwise, will ever tear us apart.

* * * * *

_I'll keep my end note short because this thing is long enough to begin with. I nearly died when I did the final word count. 10,246 words, people! You should be very proud of yourself if you've made it this far without falling into a coma._

_Of all the one-shot characters ever featured in South Park, Bradley has always really stood out to me. Most likely because he's from an episode that heavily supports my theory that Cartman is, deep down inside, a flaming homosexual. But regardless, I like Bradley so I've put him in the story. I have big plans for him. Plans that don't involve him fucking Butters. Sorry to disappoint anyone._

_I've made a start on chapter 25 already. I don't want to say that I'll update soon because whenever I do, it seems to put a hex on me and something happens that delays me from updating. But...I'll try._

_And finally, David Duchovny's hot...and Jewish, I believe...so...yeah..._

_Thanks for reading. Hit the button below if you fancy telling me what you thought._

_DD_

_Xx_


	25. Sacrifice

_Author Notes: Thank you for all of your reads and reviews since my last update – I really appreciate it!_

_Regarding the last chapter, one reviewer brought it to my attention that deans are not responsible for disciplining students in the US college system. Just to clarify, I'm from the UK where deans ARE responsible for disciplinary action. So rather than mess around with the story, I've decided I'm gonna keep the dean as being responsible for discipline at the boys' college. However, my apologies for my lack of research with regards to this particular area._

_Anyway, on with chapter 25! There's a dose of nasty anti-Semitic language in this chapter, so __**reader discretion is advised**__._

**Chapter 25 – Sacrifice**

It's only been a month, and I've already reached the conclusion that being in college is awesome! The professors actually talk to you like you're an adult, even though you're technically not quite there yet. There's an overall more grown up atmosphere here. Although there are of course a few dickheads that sporadically make their presence known, reminding me once again that at least one fourth of the US population is retarded. I've had a couple of derelict ass-munches muttering 'faggot' as they pass me in the hallway and I'll admit that I've wanted to rip into them for it. But I've actually found that rising above it is so much more satisfying. After all, I may be a faggot but I'm a faggot who's in a secure happy relationship with a man that I love. And I'm probably getting laid on a much more regular basis than them. So fuck 'em.

I occasionally catch a glimpse of that asshole senior who Eric beat up. If I catch his eye, he'll smirk and wink condescendingly, but other than that he stays clear of me. I know now that his name is Michael Hawk, and that not only is he a racist but a chauvinist too. I've overheard him speaking to his girlfriend before and if I were her, I'd be forever slapping the taste out of his mouth. Seriously, anyone who has ever thought Eric Cartman to be the biggest jerk in the world should encounter this guy. They'd have their eyes opened, that's for sure.

Not a lot has changed on the home front. A few weekends ago, Ike came back to visit. His custody bullshit hasn't been resolved yet, so he's still stuck in New York with Mom for now. He hates it, claiming that everyone is such 'a freaky fucking Jew' there. At one point he started gushing about how much he missed me and I noticed his usual indifferent demeanour starting to falter. Before I had a chance to make a grab for the Kleenex, he was clinging to me and sobbing on my shoulder. I remember embracing him tightly, rubbing his back and making soothing sounds as his tears fell and stained my shirt. I couldn't help wondering exactly how long he'd had all of this inside of him for. How many times had he told me that he didn't care when in reality he was in pain? He may not be a Broflovski by blood, but he's got the Jewish art of stoicism mastered down to a tee.

As much as I wanted to, I didn't cry with him. I had to be strong for him, just this once. He seemed genuinely grateful for this, and I was left feeling like I'd grown as a big brother. I feel like I'm blossoming in other areas of my life too. My relationship with Eric is subtly become more mature with every passing week. Prime example - Liane wanted to put up some new drapes in the bathroom and asked for our opinion. So Eric and I proceeded to have a fifteen minute conversation about what kind we should get. Naturally it was more like an argument than an actual conversation, but it still felt like a very...adult experience. I think Eric realised this too, as he promptly slammed me up against the bathroom wall and indulged us in a few more very adult experiences as a way of concluding our debate.

Even my relationship with Stan is becoming more adult, as I discovered this afternoon at college. We sat together on the benches during a shared free period, just chatting about general shit. He'd seemed a little distracted recently. I'd been pestering him as to why, but he kept on giving me the brush off. This worried me a little - Stan has never had a problem talking to me about stuff, and it got me thinking that perhaps we aren't as close as what we used to be. Then again, some things are hard to discuss – just look at the secrets I was keeping from him not so long ago.

'So, how are things with you and Wendy?' I ask.

'Err...yeah. Great, thanks.' He doesn't sound particularly confident. Maybe that's what's been getting him down. He forces a casual smile. 'How about you and Cartman? You guys okay?'

'Never better.'

That's an understatement, but I don't really want to rub my happiness in Stan's face when he's clearly out of sorts. He nods slowly.

'That's cool. So he still...keeps you...'happy' then?'

His unusual tone catches me off guard, so much so that I struggle to form a reply.

'Er...'

'You know, like...**happy**?'

...Okay? He's either enquiring about the quality of my sex life, or I'm totally misreading what he's trying to say. Either way, this is pretty fucked up right here. I must be looking at him like he's from another planet, as he clears his throat nervously and looks away from me.

'Dude, is everything alright?' I ask.

He stares at the spot on the bench beside us for a moment, tracing the circular patterns in the wood with his fingertip. Eventually he sighs, still not looking up at me.

'Look, this is gonna sound a little strange, but...I need some advice from you.'

His voice kinda sounds the way that Kenny's did the night he called me from that Vegas motel. Perhaps Stan has caught a glimpse of Craig's awesome schlong too.

'What kind of advice?' I ask cautiously.

He hesitantly meets my gaze. I notice he's got that deer caught in headlights thing going on.

'Well...it's just that lately, I...'

He pauses, apparently rethinking his approach to the subject matter he has in mind.

'I just can't stop thinking about what Cartman did for you a few weeks back,' he suddenly blurts out. 'I mean, kicking the ass of a guy twice his size? I know he got into trouble for it and stuff, but it was pretty damn impressive. You just...you can tell that he has so much passion when it comes to you.'

Stan pauses again to smile at me. It takes me a moment to realise he's smiling because of the big goofy grin that has crept onto my face.

'And you're the same with him, now more than ever,' he continues. 'Even before you guys got together, it was like all you ever thought about was each other. Even when he wasn't there, you'd be like _'that fucking fatass this, that Nazi asshole that'_. Cartman was the same whenever I hung out with him. _'That Jewrat will be at his lame-assed synagogue right about now. I bet that stupid Jew jerks off over his math homework.'_ You've always been such a part of each other's way of thinking, like you haunt each other's thoughts or something.'

I'm a little overwhelmed by Stan's observations. I always thought that even though he accepted my relationship with Eric, he never really 'got it'. I guess I was wrong – he seems to understand us pretty well.

'I see how you look at each other and it's just amazing,' he gushes. 'You have this unmistakeable desire for each other, like you'd quite happily just rip each other's clothes off and starting getting it on anywhere, anytime, regardless of who's watching.'

As pleased as I am that my best friend is so happy for me, I still don't see where this is going.

'So...exactly what advice do you want from me?'

He sighs again, starting to look increasingly more nervous and awkward.

'Don't get me wrong,' he mutters. 'Wends and me are really happy together. But I think we lack the fire that you and Cartman have.'

I shrug. 'We just have a very different relationship from you and-'

'Yeah, I know that,' he cuts in. 'I guess it's just...I'm concerned that with Wendy going to a different school, she's gonna find some rich smart guy that rocks her world and ditch me.'

I can't help rolling my eyes. Sure, Wendy was a bit flighty back when we were eight. But I haven't seen her as much as look at another guy since we were like ten or something.

'Wendy wouldn't do that to you, dude. You've been together for years. She loves you.'

'I know,' he nods. 'And I feel dumb saying it because I really do trust her. But I just want to make sure that I'm constantly in her thoughts night and day, the way that you and Cartman are always in each others. So, what's your secret? How do I, ya know... spice things up?'

I arch an eyebrow. 'You're seriously asking me for advice on your sex life? **Me?**'

Stan cringes at my tone. 'Too awkward for you?'

'It's not awkward. I just would have thought that Kenny would be more-'

'No, dude,' he interrupts. 'Kenny has experience, but he lacks passion. I want Wendy and me to have that raw burning lust for each other that you and Cartman have.'

I treat myself to yet another satisfied smile. 'The sex isn't the only reason our relationship is like that, you know?'

'But isn't it like, where it all began? Like, the foundation your relationship was built on or something?'

Not really. The relationship I have with Eric has pretty much always been built on the fact that no matter what how badly we've hurt each other or pissed each other off, we've never been able to put any permanent distance between us. The sex, as great as it is, was simply a catalyst, a means by which we finally came together. Seeing the desperation in Stan's eyes is the only thing that halts me from vocalising this thought.

'You sure you wanna have this discussion, dude?' I ask carefully. 'Last time we talked about sex, you nearly had a coronary.'

Stan takes a deep breath and nods firmly. 'I'm positive.'

I'm glad one of us is. What the fuck am I supposed to say? I could give him some pointers for how to improve his blowjob technique, but unless Wendy's been keeping something secret I doubt that'll be of much use to him. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to think of what exactly makes the sex between me and Eric so damn hot.

'Well...for starters, how well do you know Wendy's body?'

He looks confused. 'Like...her bra size and stuff?'

I roll my eyes. 'I mean when you close your eyes, can you visualise every inch of her? If you ran your hands over her body in the dark, would you know exactly where your hands were at all times, and exactly where they're gonna go next?'

Stan holds his palms out in front of him, studying them intently. 'Err...I guess so.'

'Guess so isn't good enough. You have to learn every inch of your partner's body to make the best use of it, see?'

'Learn every inch? I guess you've got your work cut out for you then,' he cracks.

I grin broadly. 'Every inch is worth it, believe me.'

I notice Stan wince a little at that, but I disregard it. The squeamish bastard either wants the advice or he doesn't.

'Okay, so get to know her body,' he repeats thoughtfully. 'What else?'

'Secondly, try and work out what her biggest turn ons are, and work them like crazy,' I say, feeling more confident now. 'For example, I know Eric really likes it when I'm submissive towards him, so that's what I do.'

'Well, Wendy seems to like it when I...you know...'

He gestures to his mouth then down towards his crotch.

'Eat her pussy?' I suggest.

He looks at me like I'm a complete stranger for a moment before nodding slowly.

'Well, I'm not exactly the best person to give advice on that particular act, but if Eric knows that I like a certain...thing done to me, he'll often add a special element to it.'

'Like what?'

I sigh, becoming a little impatient. I can't believe how fucking hopeless he is! This stuff is child's play as far as I'm concerned. I guess that probably says more about me than him though.

'Like do it when I least expect it, use handcuffs on me, run a feather or an ice cube over my skin...Just use your imagination, dude. Keep your tactics fresh.'

'How do I know that I'm doing what she wants though?'

I shrug. 'You'll just have to try it and find out. If you always play it safe, you'll never know. Variety is the spice of life. Eric and I are always trying new things. What's the wildest thing you would say that you've done sexually?'

He looks a little alarmed by my question. It probably didn't help that I voiced it in such a casual manner. I genuinely don't expect him to actually tell me, but after a moment he seems to unclench.

'Err...well, I went to meet her in the science lab late one evening after school. Nobody else was there so we started making out and...I ended up doing her over her desk wearing nothing but her stiletto heels.'

There's that shoe thing again. I daren't ask for clarification as to which of them was wearing the heels though. Despite the interesting shade of pink his face has turned, I don't think he found that so hard.

'Sex in school, huh?' I muse. 'Not bad.'

He gives me a small, uneasy smile. 'So...what's the wildest thing that you've done then?'

'You really wanna know?'

'Sure, why not?'

I have to think about this one for a moment. Let's see...handcuffed in Eric's basement, fun with zucchinis, blowjob on a Ferris wheel...

'Well?' Stan presses.

'Hold on, I'm trying to choose.'

'Choose?!'

I cheerfully ignore his astounded tone. 'Oh, we did some role-playing on the tracks behind Kenny's house once. It was really dark and raining heavily, and Eric had this clown mask and a toy gun with him. So he put the mask on and pretended to be a rapist. He 'forced' me to simulate oral sex on the gun, then tied me down to the tracks and stuck a goldfish up my ass. Then as he was 'forcing himself on me', he used a little autoerotic asphyxia to really get me off.'

I almost bite through my bottom lip to stop myself from laughing at the scandalized expression on Stan's face.

'Sorry I asked,' he mutters.

I shrug casually. 'Yeah, I thought you might be. Anyway, if you think of something new to do, just do it. Be spontaneous. Then listen or watch for a reaction from her so you know how she feels about it. Or if you're not sure, just ask her.'

Stan frowns. 'Wouldn't that kinda ruin the mood?'

'Of course not. Just incorporate it as part of the fun. Just make your voice go all low and syrupy, like so...'

I clear my throat and lean towards Stan, putting on my most velvety voice.

'_Mmm, you like that baby? Am I making you hot for me?_' I groan theatrically in his ear, before returning to my normal voice. 'That sort of thing, you know?'

Stan's blue eyes are about the size of dinner plates.

'Dude...'

I blink innocently. 'What?'

'You just moaned at me.'

His scolding tone makes me burst out laughing. When he scowls, I place my hand on his knee and squeeze it flirtatiously.

'What the matter, Stanley?' I say softly. '_Don't you like my bedroom voice?_'

'No!' he cries, horrified. 'Cut it out!'

As he recoils back away from me, thick hands slide over his shoulders and massage gently.

'_No? Then how 'bout mine?_'

Stan lets out a pitchy yelp as Eric's husky voice purrs in his ear. I join Eric in laughter as a flustered Stan tries to get himself together. Yeah, I know we're cruel. So sue us. Stan and I make room so that Eric can sit down. When he's comfortable, he pulls me into a deep kiss. I can tell that Stan's watching us out of the corner of his eye. I never thought anyone would be envious of our relationship. I mean, it's just us. I guess we do have something pretty special though. Eric pulls away from me and smirks, winking saucily.

'Hey, Jew.'

I grin. 'Hey, fatass. How was German?'

He casually rattles off a few sentences in German in response, looking smug when Stan and I look completely confused.

'It was killer,' he clarifies. 'So, what's up with the sexy voice?'

'Stan was just asking me for some...advice.'

For once, Eric is able to read between the lines and crinkle his nose disgustedly.

'Gross. Glad I missed that conversation,' he mutters, then smirks. 'What's the matter, Stanley? You got yourself a less-than-Magic Johnson?'

Stan frowns. 'No, dude.'

'Been serving up a little boneless pork?'

'Fuck off, Cartman.'

'Been taking the gold at the Lake Flaccid Olympics?'

I make no attempt to hide my sniggering. Okay – so maybe I haven't grown up **that** much. Stan opens his mouth to throw another insult back at Eric when something catches his eye in the distance, making him smile wickedly.

'Hey, Bradley!'

Bradley seems a little startled by Stan's abrupt greeting, but then waves to us and starts approaching. Eric glares at the smirk Stan shoots him. He knows as well as I do how Eric regards Bradley. He still can't stand the poor guy. In fact, he positively bristles whenever Bradley is within a five foot radius of him. He says it's because Bradley's too much like Butters for his own good, but I think it's because he knows how much I like the dude. Not **like** like him, obviously. But I'm very fond of him - he's a decent, kind-hearted guy who's always very pleasant to me. Overly pleasant, in fact. Eric doesn't like that either. He's still adamant that Bradley has a thing for me, but I just don't see it.

'Be nice,' I mutter.

Eric feigns an offended look. 'I'm **always** nice.'

Before I can make what would have no doubt been a very sarcastic reply, Bradley reaches the bench, flashing us his usual shy smile. 'Hey guys.'

'Good morning, Bradley,' Eric chirps tunefully. 'My, that's a lovely shirt that you're wearing.'

Stan and I roll our eyes at the overkill as Bradley looks completely taken aback. I don't think he's ever seen Eric trying to be nice before.

'You really think so?' he asks, reaching a hand up to his chest.

'Totally,' Eric says, smiling sweetly. 'In fact, my great grandmother has one just like it-OW!'

As the heel of my foot squashes Eric's toes into the ground, Bradley seems to contemplate his words and the smile slowly return to his face.

'Well...thanks, I guess,' he says cheerfully. 'Wanna walk to psych with me, Kyle?'

I glance at my watch and nod. 'Sure.'

As I get up to leave, Eric pulls me into his lap. He runs his fingers through my tousled curls, pressing another firm kiss to my lips before sending me on my way with a playful pat to my ass. Stan and I exchange glances. Of course, that little display was pretty much totally for Bradley's benefit. It's Eric's way of saying 'My Jew! Mine!' I don't know why he doesn't just cock his leg and piss on me. I guess this is just another example of the passion that Stan is so desirous for.

Bradley and I chat about the papers that we've been working on as we make our way to the psych room. This is actually our last class of the day, and it seems to fly by. I'm pretty glad about that – we've been studying a shitload of new material today and I'm gonna need some time to chill out and get my head around it. Sounds like I'm not the only one as I hear Bradley sigh in relief next to me when the professor dismisses the class. As I put my books away, I see a loose piece of paper floating around in the bottom of my backpack. That's odd – I'm an obsessive filer when it comes to paperwork and never have things loose. I fish it out and realise that it's not actually a piece of paper, but an envelope. I freeze as I read the four bold letters on the front of it.

'KIKE'

I clench my teeth as a jolt of anger rushes through my body. I guess it's safe to assume that this is for me. Gingerly, I tear open the flap and skim my eyes over the enclosed typed page of A4.

'_**The personification of the devil as the symbol of all evil assumes the living shape of the Jew.**_

_Let me begin by informing you that this letter is for your eyes only. I can promise you that if you alert anyone else as to the existence of this letter, I'll make sure that you live to regret it._

_**The Jew has always been a people with definite racial characteristics and never a religion.**_

_Since the moment I first saw you, I've been watching you in disgust. There is no place in this life for your kind. The world would be a perfect place if not for you and your vile kin scarring the earth's face like an ugly unsightly boil._

_**This poisoning of the nation will not end, until the carrier himself, the Jew, has been banished from our midst.**_

_Exterminating you Christ-murdering bloodsuckers should be made an act of public service. I have spared you thus far, biding my time. My moment has almost arrived. I am ready to act in the name of my God and country._

_**The Jews will be hanged one after another, and they will stay hanging until they stink.**_

_Are you scared, kike? You should be. I'm not bluffing. Your faggot boyfriend won't always be there to protect you. The second I catch you alone, I shall have you. I shall string you up by your neck and watch you writhe like the worthless serpent you are. And as you draw your final breath, I will ask you how it feels to die in the name of the Lord and Savior Jesus Christ._

_**I believe that I am acting in accordance with the will of the Almighty Creator: **__**by defending myself against the Jew, I am fighting for the work of the Lord**__**.'**_

Crudely scribbled at the foot of the letter in black pen is a short sentence in German.

'_Ich hoffe, dass wir uns bald mal kennenlernen.'_

An icy chill runs up my spine. I'm used to some degree of anti-Semitism, but Cartman at his worst wouldn't have said anything like this. This isn't the harmless teasing that I'm familiar with. This dude means business. It seems stupid, but I've never been able to comprehend senseless prejudice like this. I've never personally done anything to offend this individual to my knowledge. Is this guy really saying he wants to hurt me just because I'm Jewish? Surely he knows I can't help the way I was born. I just don't understand it. I know I sound really fucking dumb saying it, but I just don't...

A hand on my shoulder causes me to cry out and leap from my chair. It's only Bradley, who looks alarmed and concerned by my violent reaction.

'What's the matter, Kyle? You look kinda pale.'

For whatever reason, I can't speak. Before I can think, I hand the letter to him. His aquamarine eyes double in size.

'My God, that... that's awful!' he gasps. 'Who would write something so horrible?'

'I don't know. I...'

I'm astonished at the trembling in my voice. I sound...terrified? Frustrated? I don't know... The next thing I'm aware of is Bradley pulling me into a consoling hug. I'm usually not keen on people I don't know very well touching me, but I'm too perturbed by that fucking letter to care right now. I let out a shaky sigh as Bradley rubs my back soothingly.

'It's okay, Kyle,' he whispers in my ear.

I really wish I could believe him...

'What the hell's going on?'

I look up at the sound of Eric's voice. He and Stan are lingering in the doorway, staring at us. Ignoring Eric's irritated expression I pull away from Bradley and make a grab for the letter, shoving it into the back pocket of my jeans. I can't let Eric see this. He'll go fucking batshit.

'It's nothing. I just don't feel very well. Let's just go home.'

Again, the voice that comes out of my mouth doesn't sound like mine. I fumble with my backpack as Eric and Stan look at each other in bewilderment. Bradley's hand squeezes my shoulder again.

'Kyle, you can't keep this hidden from your friends.'

I cringe, because I know he's right. Eric approaches us, eyeing Bradley suspiciously.

'Keep what hidden?'

Goddamn it... Recovering the letter out of my back pocket, I hesitantly hold it out to Eric.

'Promise me you won't flip out.'

He makes no such promise as he takes the letter from me. The further he reads down the page, the darker his eyes become.

'Motherfucker!'

He accentuates his outrage by slamming the letter down full force onto my desk. The jarring sound does nothing to help my nerves. I feel like a fucking wreck - I'm actually shaking. Bradley notices and guides me back into my seat. He puts his arm around my shoulder but it isn't there for long before Eric takes over, kneeling by my side and wrapping his arms around me. I lean into his familiar warmth, instantly feeling a little better despite the fact I'm being held by someone who looks like he wants to go out and kill something. Stan joins us, leaning over the front of my desk and studying the letter.

'My God...Kyle, where did you find this?' he asks softly.

'In my backpack,' I say, feeling as miserable as I sound.

'Any idea who could have put it there?' Bradley cuts in. 'Did you notice anyone hanging around you, looking suspicious?'

'No,' I sigh, shaking my head. 'It could have happened any time. At lunch, during class, when I was walking in the hallway... It could have been there all week for all I know. I just...I don't know.'

It's chilling. I never leave my backpack unattended. So this person who apparently wants to kill me has been close enough to me to put a threatening letter in my backpack without me noticing. I think I'm gonna puke. I notice the pitying looks Stan and Bradley are giving me as Eric's arms tighten around me.

'This is fucked up, dude,' Stan mutters. 'You have to show this to the police.'

'Fuck that!' Eric cries. 'Didn't you read the letter?'

'We can't just do nothing, Cartman!' Stan snaps.

'One thing we're not doing is testing this psycho's patience, Marsh!'

'Guys, please stop,' Bradley pipes up. 'Kyle doesn't need this right now.'

'What the hell do you know about what Kyle needs?' Eric snarls.

'What I need is to go home,' I croak. 'Can we just get out of here, please?'

Stan nods. 'No problem, dude. Let's go.'

My knees are weak as I get up from the desk. I feel pretty stupid for getting like this. I'm usually pretty unflappable – maybe I'm in shock or something. I'm trying to be rational, telling myself that I should consider myself lucky that I've only had a letter. This nutjob could have easily just killed me right off the bat without any warning. But somehow, these thoughts do nothing to help the nauseous feeling in my gut. As we leave the classroom, I feel my quaking hand being captured by Eric's strong one. He squeezes my fingers tightly in his palm as we walk to the parking lot, ignoring all the stares and whispers. I'm pretty sure he tells a few people to fuck off too. I'm not sure – I can't focus.

We bump into Butters on the way to the parking lot. He seems very concerned about the state I'm in, but we spare him the details and keep the letter hidden from him. He's a sensitive kind of guy who adores his friends, and he's bound to get upset if he reads that shit. We say our goodbyes to Bradley and just as we're about to get in Stan's car, we hear obnoxious laughter behind us. I turn and see that Hawk asshole standing having a smoke with a couple of the other football players by a rundown old pickup-truck. He catches me looking at him and gives me his usual nasty grin and wink. Unfortunately, Eric sees the gesture too. With a snarl, he drags me over to the group. I feel my insides do a somersault at the way Hawk eyes me up. Eric boldly gets right up in his smirking face.

'So you're gonna hang him by the neck, huh?' he hisses dangerously.

Hawk looks around at his posse, apparently genuinely confused. He snorts in laughter, blowing smoke into Eric's face as he does so.

'What the fuck are you on, Chunk?'

'Let me tell you something,' Eric continues, ignoring the insult. 'You'll **never** get your chance. I will **always** be here to protect him. Got that, fucker?'

Hawk rolls his eyes dismissively. 'I'm happy for you, faggot. Now, fuck off.'

He emphasises his point by flicking his cigarette butt at Eric's chest. I'm about to drag Eric back over to the guys when Hawk grins at me again.

'You know... for a heeb, you sure got a purdy mouth.'

'Don't push me, dickhead!' Eric yells.

My grip on his hand tightens as Hawk and company laugh in his face. I'm starting to feel very anxious. Eric's kept remarkably cool so far, but he's close to losing it. There's no way in hell he could handle all of these guys on his own. I hear Stan and Butters approaching, which makes me feel a little better.

'Check out that fine ass too,' one of the jocks drawls, looking me up and down. 'Think he could pass for a chick from behind?'

'It's all the same when your eyes are closed, man,' another chips in.

The group laugh again as I feel my face starting to go red. I'm not sure if it's from embarrassment or anger, though the latter is more likely. I tug at Eric's hand insistently, gritting my teeth together as I try to block out their taunts.

'Hey, Broflovski? You ever get tired of Poppin' Fresh there, you should come see us sometime.'

'Yeah, we'll make you scream 'oy vey' over and over.'

'Fuck you, asshole!' I snap.

Curse my temper. Hawk smirks at my outburst.

'Yeah I'd bet you'd like that, wouldn't ya...' He shifts his eyes to Eric, arching an eyebrow in challenge. 'Kike.'

'That fucking does it!'

I hear a distinctive click and make a grab for Eric's other hand as he lunges at Hawk. Luckily Stan and Butters are there to back me up. They each grab an arm while I try to prise the switchblade out of Eric's hand. Unfortunately, no-one has any hands free to cover his mouth.

'You fucking sack of shit! I'll kill you! I swear to God, I'll fucking kill you!'

Hawk and his buddies are totally unfazed by his fury, and just stand there grinning at our struggling group. It doesn't take long until we find out why.

'Mr Cartman!'

The dean's furious booming voice appears to be the release mechanism for Eric's hand. The knife jingles as it hits the asphalt. Everyone freezes, seemingly holding their breath as they stare downwards at the sharp glinting blade.

Goddamn it...

* * * * *

Today has been nothing but a fucking disaster. Eric didn't get out of the dean's office until after five. I told Stan and Butters to go, but they didn't want to leave me on my own. I felt bad for them having to wait – I'm very grateful but they shouldn't be getting swept up in my little drama when both of them have their own lives to attend to. When Eric finally emerged, the news was anything but good. The dean's previous warning hadn't been an idle threat.

When Eric confirmed to us that he'd been expelled, the day's events all became too much for me to handle. I just put my arms around him and broke down right there in the hallway. I wasn't hysterical or anything, but I still felt like such a jackass afterwards. Both Stan and Eric have seen me cry before, but I could tell that Butters just didn't know what to do or where to put himself. I apologised profusely for putting him in that situation before he got out of the car. In typical Butters fashion, he just looked at me like he had no idea what I was talking about and smiled kindly before leaving wordlessly.

Other than my garbled apology to Butters, the ride home was completely silent. As Eric and I were about to get out of the car, I caught Stan's eyes in the rear view mirror. He opened his mouth to say something, but decided to just leave it at giving me one of his patented super best friend smiles. It's the smile that always says, 'I'm here for you. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask.' I automatically smiled back - I always appreciate it.

Once we were in the house Eric flopped down onto the couch with a deep aggravated sigh, glaring at the switched off television in front of him. I slowly sat next to him, choosing to fix my gaze on the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. Liane wouldn't be home for a few hours – she'd told us this morning that she'd be out with the girls from work tonight. Shit – how is he gonna tell her he's been expelled? She was so proud of him for making it into college. Judging by the expression on his face, he doesn't look overly concerned about that right now. We sit side by side on the couch in silence for a long time. One of us needs to say something soon. I don't think I even know where to begin though.

'You shouldn't have done that, Eric.' All I get is a blank look in response to that. I sigh impatiently. 'What the fuck were you thinking?'

'Isn't it obvio-'

I don't let him finish. 'You pulled a knife on him, dude!'

He actually rolls his eyes at me! 'Yeah well, he had it coming to him.'

'We didn't even have any proof it was him that sent the letter.'

'We had fucking good reason to assume as much.'

I shake my head. 'Not good enough reason for you to go getting yourself expelled.'

'I don't care about that!' he snaps.

'Well, you should!' I counter, equally as snippy. 'You worked so fucking hard to get into college, Eric.'

'Well, sorry if I'm slightly more bothered by the fact that some homicidal fucknut wants to fucking kill you!'

I open my mouth to reply, but no words come. How can I argue with him?

'You know me better than anyone, Kyle,' he growls. 'Seriously, can you really say that you're surprised I went so fucking crazy after reading that letter? And then hearing what that sick fuck had to say?'

'I'm not surprised, no,' I reply dumbly.

'I did what I did in **your** defence, Kyle,' he continues heatedly. 'I did it to protect **you**.'

Although I know it's not his intention, I feel a little guilty when he puts it like that. I watch him silently, listening to him mutter as he cradles his head in his hands.

'Goddamn it...stupid Jew...you mean everything to me...'

'I know...' I whisper.

He looks up when I lean in and kiss his cheek. His deep brown eyes seem to glow with pure emotion - a mixture of hurt, devotion, fear and rage. They'd scare me if I didn't understand them so well.

'I took a risk today and lost,' he murmurs. 'So be it. You're not the only one who's willing to make sacrifices for the good of our relationship.'

I say nothing to response. I can't. I guess that's an element to our relationship that not even Stan can comprehend – our complete willingness to do anything for each other, no matter what the cost. Whether it's walking into San Francisco during a smug storm or struggling against rising waters in a cave. Giving up our families and homes or risking our futures and even our very lives...

No sacrifice is too much.

* * * * *

_No sex scene this time. Sorry about that, but I thought it might downplay the seriousness of the chapter. That and the fact that I'm totally burned out. I always find dramatic chapters particularly exhausting. Kyle's letter was probably the most horrible thing I've ever had to write. In case you were wondering, the bold parts are all Hitler quotes. The German roughly translates as 'I hope to be meeting with you very soon.'_

_The overall tone of chapter 26 will be much more upbeat than this one. We haven't seen Kenny for a while, so he'll be featuring somewhere._

_Thanks for reading! Do review, if it suits you. :) See you next time!_

_DD_

_xx_

_PS: For those of you who don't check my profile regularly, I just wanted to let you know that I'm currently working on the groundwork for a new story. It's gonna be a Butters/Kyle/Cartman triangle type thing which probably won't be as epic as Kyle in Chains, but that's all I'm saying for now. I want to get Kyle in Chains finished first before posting anything new, but I just wanted to give you a head's up regarding what I have in the works._


	26. Connected

_Author Notes: As always, many thanks for reading and reviewing, people! I understand I offend some of you with some of the content of my last chapter. Good – that was the intention, in a way. I would have been more concerned if I __**hadn't**__ have offended you, to be honest. We're all used to the way Cartman teases Kyle for being a Jew in South Park, but I was trying to make the point that __**real**__ anti-Semitism is serious shit. It shouldn't happen, but it does. I hate to come over preachy, but let's not just sweep the realities of life under the carpet._

_Anyway, here's chapter 26. It might not be up to scratch as I'm working a lot of night shifts lately and I'm absolutely knackered (that's Brit-speak for fucking exhausted!). The story is gonna be taken in a whole new direction in this chapter – and I get the feeling that people are either gonna love it or hate it. We'll see..._

**Chapter 26 - Connected**

Within twenty-four hours of me receiving that repulsive letter, Eric had set up my own personal protection league. The league consists of Stan and Butters for the most part, although Bradley also offered up his services. Eric quite categorically told him that his help wouldn't be necessary though. I'm quite glad that he did – two personal bodyguards is more than enough for anyone. So Eric took copies of both Stan and Butters' school schedules and cross-referenced them with mine, making arrangements for them to meet me after all my classes so that I was never alone for a minute while in school. Of course, they were happy to do it – they don't want anything to happen to me either. But it still made me feel like a bit of a pansy, to think that I needed someone like Butters protecting me. No offense to the guy, but...come on! Seriously...

It's been two weeks since that ominous event and we haven't heard anything more from that Hitler-quoting psycho so far. In the time that's gone by, Eric has managed to land a part-time job with a design and printing company. Obviously it's not exactly what he wants to do with his life, but it's not a far cry from it and it should look good on his resume. The building he works at is only about half a mile away from the college, so Stan is able to pick him up on the way home. It's not a particularly busy place either, so he manages to call me on my cell in between all my classes to confirm that I'm okay. I feel kinda like I have two stalkers sometimes, but he seems to feel that everything he's doing is necessary to keep me safe. I guess I should know by now that Eric Cartman never does anything by half, and I suppose it's better than him not giving a fuck.

This morning, I had only one class and since no-one was available to 'babysit' me, Eric came to meet me at the campus. He isn't at work today, so we decide to spend the time together doing something fun. God only knows that we're in need of as much rest and relaxation as possible lately. Unfortunately, there isn't a hell of a lot of fun stuff available to do late on a Tuesday morning, so we decide to keep it simple and go see a movie. The matinees at the Bijou tend to suck ass at the best of times, and today is no different - the best thing on offer is 'The Condemned'. I've heard nothing but bad things about this movie, but at least it's an action. That way, if it sucks there'll hopefully be some buff looking hot dudes somewhere in it to compensate...

There's only about thirty or so other people in the theatre, so we pretty much have our choice of seating. We both seem to automatically gravitate towards the back-row, which is somewhat cliché but suitably convenient. A mere thirty minutes in, I can tell I was being overly optimistic earlier from the onset. This movie blows big time. It's just a suck-ass remake of 'Battle Royale'. To make matters worse, they've been very thrifty with the calibre of man-candy in this thing. The hottest dude in it is 'Stone Cold' Steve Austin, for fuck's sake! Seriously, if the theatre's goal of the day was to show a shitty movie featuring a wrestler, couldn't they have at least shown something with The Rock in it?

Oh look, someone just died. Good.

I sigh and glance to my right at Eric, who is unenthusiastically nibbling on a Twizzler with a glazed over expression on his face. He's obviously enjoying this every bit as much as I am. My gaze travels from his face down his torso. I watch his broad masculine chest rise and fall evenly as he breathes before continuing downwards. My eyes halt, lingering on his denim-encased crotch as I smile naughtily. I bet he'd make a better action hero than any douchey pro-wrestler...

Eric yawns obnoxiously to express his displeasure at the crap-fest on screen.

'Jesus Christ, I don't think anything could suck more than this movie,' he grumbles.

He bites down on his candy, the last inch or so jutting out from in between his lips. Smirking, I slide my hand onto his knee and lean into him.

'I beg to differ...'

He arches an eyebrow as I swirl my tongue over the tip of the red candy hanging from his mouth. Lunging forward so that our lips clash, I bite down and aggressively tear a chunk from Eric's sweet. He stares at me in bewilderment, swallowing hard as I eye him predatorily. Shuffling closer, I press my lips to his ear, trailing my fingers up his inner thigh. He inhales sharply as I cup his bulge in my hand, giving the denim material a light squeeze. My teeth clamp down on his earlobe, and I feel his chest vibrate in response. He starts chewing on his bottom lip as he watches me slide the zipper on his jeans down. I reach inside and fondle his hardening cock, glancing around to ensure that we haven't caught anyone's attention yet. Confident that the coast is clear, I gracefully drop to my knees on the floor in front of him. It's a tight squeeze, but I can deal with it.

When I'm sure his attention is on me, I take his cock in my hand and slide my tongue over the head. I repeat the action over and over, savouring each motion as if he were a particularly scrumptious flavour of ice cream. He breathes deeply, pretending to focus on the screen in front of him. It's clear from the look in his eyes that the movie is the last thing on his mind when I start jacking his cock with firm even movements. He writhes in his chair, eyes darting around the darkened theatre as I tease his balls with the tip of my tongue. I can hear him desperately trying to control the sounds he's making, his breath coming out in short gasps almost as if he were quietly sobbing. That's perfect – if anyone hears him, they'll probably just assume that he's crying over the sheer shittiness of the movie.

Thick fingers tighten in my hair as I suddenly plunge his throbbing length into the back of my throat. I suckle at his silken flesh earnestly, feeling an excited fluttering in my stomach as he starts silently mouthing my name. I growl softly, steadily breathing in the blended fragrance of Twizzlers and the distinct leather smell of his jacket. After a few more minutes of my best oral action, he grits his teeth and quietly climaxes with an uncontrollable buck of his hips. I graciously receive his load, but I'm careful not to swallow. With a feral smile, I quietly slide back up into my seat. Having put himself away, he shoots me a satisfied grin and leans forward to kiss me. When I feel his lips part, my hands grasp the back of his head and I send a wave of lukewarm cum into his mouth.

He instantly pulls back from me, spluttering as his own fluids spill down his throat. A few people glance around to witness his outburst. I shrug at them in feigned innocence, gesturing to the half empty bucket of popcorn that we've been sharing. When the onlookers return their attention to the screen, I sit back in my seat and chuckle as Eric continues to cough. I consider having some popcorn while I wait for him to collect himself, but I decide to pass. Hot sweet popcorn can't possibly be more delicious than what I can already taste.

When Eric's done gasping for breath, his fingers thread into my hair once more as he firmly yanks my face towards his. I'm not at all surprised to find him smiling devilishly.

'I hope you're proud of yourself, you sneaky Jew,' he purrs.

I grin smugly. 'Payback's a bitch, asshole.'

He pulls me closer for another succulent kiss, the taste of his seed still fresh on our lips. His warm hand slides up the inside of my t-shirt, his fingers pinching harshly at my nipples. I gasp into his mouth, kissing him harder as his teeth graze my flickering tongue. The sudden presence of a beam of light in our faces makes us jump apart. It's one of the ushers.

'What are you kids doing back here?' he demands.

'Making out,' I reply flatly, trying not to sound too insolent.

'I've had complaints from other customers that you've been...cavorting in the back row.'

Eric rolls his eyes. 'Oh, that is such bullcrap...' I have to snigger when he turns towards me and whispers, 'What the hell's 'cavorting'?'

The usher sighs impatiently. 'Look, you're disturbing the other customers. I'm going to have to ask you to leave.'

I'm about to argue that we were doing sweet fuck all to disturb the other customers, but Eric is already on his feet.

'That's fine,' he says loudly. 'This movie sucks ass anyway.'

He takes a hold of my hand and leads me down the aisle, casually flipping off the other customers with his free hand as we exit the theatre. I can't hide the shit eating grin I'm currently wearing. A few years ago, I would have been mortified if I'd been thrown out of a theatre for 'cavorting in the back row'. Right now though, I feel exhilarated. The cold air hits my enflamed cheeks as we step out onto the street.

'Well, that was fun,' I say humorously.

'Mmm...'

As I start to walk away, Eric tugs on my arm roughly and pulls me to his chest. Smirking, he pushes my back up against the nearest wall and kisses me forcefully. His strong hands cup my flushed face as his tongue darts out to reunite with mine once again. My lips curl into a smile against his and I slip my arms around his waist, sliding my hands into the back pockets of his jeans. I'm feeling pretty bold right now, reclining against the movie theatre wall as we put on a matinee of our very own in the middle of a busy street. A few people honk at us as they pass in their cars, but it doesn't slow our fervour. I guess this is the kind of thing Stan was talking about the other week. I can quite safely say I don't give a fuck who's watching us. I kinda hope that stalker guy is spying on us right now though.

Write a letter about **this**, motherfucker.

I moan as I feel the bulge growing in Eric's jeans brush against mine, and reluctantly break the kiss.

'House?' I gasp inarticulately.

Eric hastily nods, practically dragging me through the town in the general direction of our home. I nearly trip over my own feet countless times, but I'm still smiling. Its times like this - times that make me feel so completely unabashed about any inhibitions that I may have dwelling inside of me - that make all the stress and sacrifices seem worth it. As we approach the house, I notice Liane's car is in the driveway. That's odd – she definitely took it with her this morning. She must have come home for lunch or something. Eric glances over at the car too, but doesn't remark on it. He tries the front door and finds it open. We enter the living room and are met with a sight that will no doubt stay engraved on our brains until the day we die.

Liane, lying half-naked on the couch, furiously making out with an equally underdressed man.

A man that I know all too well...

'Dad?!'

Hearing my high-pitched cry, the two jump apart and stare over at us in horror. I feel the colour drain from my face as I try not to notice Liane's smeared lipstick, the discarded shirts on the carpet or the fact that the fastenings on my dad's suit pants are undone.

Oh...My...God...

'What the fuck is this?' Eric suddenly explodes.

'Kyle, Eric...' Dad begins, looking sheepish to say the least. 'We can explain!'

'We were planning on telling you this weekend,' Liane blurts out.

'Tell us what?!'

The harshness in Eric's voice stuns both of our parents into silence. Oh God... Our parents...who were just making out like horny teenagers on the couch...Jesus, dude...

Dad takes a deep breath. 'Eric... your mother and I are together.'

Holy shit... I suddenly get the urge to pull a Stan, envisioning the walls coated in a projectile stream of undigested popcorn and soda.

'Son of a bitch!'

A vase of flowers crashes to the floor as Eric kicks out at the coffee table. Before anyone can stop him, he's storming up the staircase cursing under his breath. I'd follow him, but I'm simply too stunned to move. Liane quickly grabs her shirt from the floor, tugging it on as she scrambles up the stairs after her son. I hear the bedroom slam upstairs and Liane trying to reason with Eric through the door. Good luck to her. I eventually look at my father, who thankfully has had the decorum to zip up his pants and put his shirt back on by now.

'Dad, what the hell's going on?'

My voice is shaky, though I actually sound a lot calmer than what I feel. Confident that I'm not going to follow on from my boyfriend's furniture smashing antics, Dad hesitantly starts to explain himself.

'It wasn't meant to be this way. It was an accident. It's just...whenever I called to speak to Liane about settling your finances we'd get to talking about what was going on in our lives. With me divorcing from your mother and Liane having this entire change of lifestyle, we were both finding the pressure a little hard to handle. We both needed someone to talk to. I suppose along the way we just sort of...fell for each other.'

Fell for each other? So this isn't just a sex thing then. I don't know if that makes the situation better or worse. I mean, I know I've said that I wouldn't mind having a mother who was more like Liane, but not like this. This is just...bizarre!

'Do you really think it's appropriate to be screwing around with your son's boyfriend's mother?' I say firmly. 'Don't you see how messed up this is?'

I suddenly feel like I'm a parent talking to a teenage son, especially with the way Dad guiltily eyes the carpet as he tries to form his excuses. His lightning-fast lawyer reflexes are letting him down today.

'Look, I know this is a little awkward for you and Eric-'

I snort. 'Yeah, no shit!'

'-but Liane and I really care for each other,' he says softly. 'We're so different and yet somehow, I find her so captivating. Can you understand that?'

I see the sincerity in his eyes and can safely say that I have never felt so conflicted. Given my experience, I can totally understand where they're coming from. But that's beside the point. I mean, we're all practically family. This is borderline incest! ...Okay, maybe that's going a bit far. But it's still a completely inappropriate situation. I feel a headache coming on and reach up to massage my temples. Eric and I so totally do not need a bombshell of this magnitude right now - not with all the other shit we have going on. I didn't even realise Liane had returned to the room until she appeared beside me. She shrugs at us helplessly.

'He won't let me in.'

I can't say I'm surprised. Eric likes to have his privacy when he's plotting to murder someone.

'I'd better go check on him...'

I find myself unable to make eye contact with either of them so I'm not even sure they heard my mumbling as I quickly ascend the stairs. On my way up, it suddenly occurs to me that perhaps Eric and I have been a little harsh on Stan. If the state of shock he found himself in after having caught me and Eric on the couch was anything like what I'm feeling now, he has my every sympathy. I press my ear to the bedroom door, listening out for any yelling or cursing so I can assess the severity of Eric's mood. I hear nothing. That's a bad sign. I knock lightly.

'I said fuck off back to your boyfriend, **Liane**!'

Ouch.

'It's just me, dude.'

I hear the bedsprings creak as he gets up and approaches the door. I can see his furious face in my mind's eye before he even opens up. He drags me into the room, slamming the door shut behind us and locking it again. I sit down on the bed, watching him pace back and forth in front of me like a caged lion.

'You okay?' I ask stupidly.

'What do you think?' he snaps. 'Jesus Christ! I cannot believe they're screwing around with each other! Sick!'

'I guess things could be worse.'

He slams on the brakes so fast he nearly falls over, eyeing me incredulously.

'How could things be worse, exactly?'

'Well, I'm assuming this is why your mom has been randomly disappearing lately. At least she hasn't gone back to all that shit she used to do like you thought she might have.'

Eric seems to mull over this for a moment before shaking his head irritably.

'That doesn't change the fact that our parents are fucking each other, Kyle!'

'I know it's not an ideal situation, but they can't help it if they like each other,' I say, though not with the utmost conviction. 'I can sorta sympathise with them. You should too.'

'Why?!' he all but squeals. 'Do you realise that if those two get married, you'll be dating your step-brother?'

That's a fair argument. I'm silent for a moment, considering a worthy response.

'Well...I don't think that's illegal or anything.'

'That's beside the point!' Eric barks, exasperated. 'If they have a fucking baby together, we'll be sharing a half-sibling! I don't know about you, but I'm not all that into inbreeding...'

This thought seems to linger with him for a moment. He runs the fingers of both hands through his hair, letting out a deeply frustrated groan as he winces painfully.

'Goddamn it! We're gonna end up like Kenny's family! There's only one thing for it...'

He jams his hand into his jeans pocket and fumbles around for a while. I watch him apprehensively – the cynic in me is anticipating the appearance of a switchblade and the suggestion of a suicide pact. When Eric finds what he's looking for, he throws himself down onto the floor and scrambles across the carpet to me like some sort of insane giant toddler. He kneels at my feet, looking up into my confused eyes determinedly as he holds out the object he fished from his pocket – a ring.

'Kyle Broflovski, will you marry me?'

...Dude...

My automatic reaction is to laugh, but the look on his face tells me that I shouldn't. He actually appears to be serious. He's waiting for an answer. How can I deal with this situation tactfully?

'Have you completely lost your fucking mind?'

Tact has never been my strong suit. If Eric is offended by my brusqueness though, he doesn't show it.

'A yes or no answer will suffice, Kyle.'

The softness in his voice gives me chills. He really means it...

'You're...seriously?'

He nods slowly. 'I've never been more seriously.'

This just doesn't seem real. Is Eric Cartman really on his knees at my feet with a ring, asking me to marry him? I hate to be so candid, but this is completely absurd.

'Don't you think you're being-'

'I'm not dating my step-brother, Kyle,' he says flatly.

I roll my eyes. 'I'm **not** your step-brother, retard!'

'And you never will be if we beat them up the aisle.'

'That doesn't make any sense!'

'It makes perfect sense!'

'They can still get married even if we are, dumbass!'

'Yeah, but then **they'll** be the ones who look like the freaks who have acquired inappropriate feelings for each other, not us!'

I throw my hands up in frustration, sighing irritably. This is so ridiculous. For lack of anything better to do I snatch the ring from him, observing it closely. You know...I'm usually not too bothered about jewellery, but this ring is really stunning. The gemstone is the most perfect green colour. I'm no expert but it looks somewhat antique though it's clearly been immaculately polished, and fairly recently. I wonder where he got it. Actually, I shudder to think where he got it. I shake my head, bringing myself back to reality.

'Look, this isn't gonna stop them from-'

'Do you really think that's the only reason I'm asking, Kyle?'

His hasty interruption prompts me to look more closely at his face. There's definitely something different in his eyes - a sincere almost pleading look that goes beautifully with his slightly flushed rounded cheeks. He looks like he's on the brink of exploding from the inside out, as if there's something he's dying to say but just can't quite articulate it.

'You've said it yourself - we're destined to be together. So...say you'll marry me?'

He practically breathes out the last four heartfelt words as he catches my empty hand in a vicelike grip. I know what I want to say, but logic continues to restrain me.

'Dude, we're only sixteen.'

He nods. 'I know that. So what?'

I frown impatiently. 'So, how the hell are we even supposed to get married? It's not legal, we don't have the money to, we still live with your mom, and-'

'We don't have to do it right this second, douchebag!' he growls. 'This is just a promise to say that you will someday.'

'But I told Stan not to propose to Wendy until after college,' I protest. 'I'm gonna look a hypocrite if I-'

'Will you stop with your over-thinking already? You're kinda killing the mood here, Jew-boy.'

'What 'mood'? You've suddenly changed from the Incredible Hulk to Giacomo Casanova in like three seconds, fatass!'

'Kyle...don't make me beg.'

His husky voice halts my irritation, sending the usual lusty chills up my spine. A thousand different thoughts echo around my head. Thoughts of us, mostly. I think of all the childhood taunts, all the cold words and the times we would spit out how much we hated each other. I think of all the bullshit we put each other through, all the ridiculous schemes and bets and stupid forfeits. My mind flashes forward to now, to the times we've consoled one another and kissed so sweetly. I think of the way he can warm my heart with his clumsy mutterings one minute, and then set my naked body aflame with a simple touch of his hand the next. And I think of the rare occasions he has uttered those three words to me – the three words that clear away the dark clouds from my life and make me recognise my true purpose for being.

All of that has lead up to this moment – the newest twist in our chaotic inescapable tale.

In truth, the prospect of spending my life with this guy has never perturbed me. Even now as I look down at the ring in my hand, I don't feel scared. Just...serenely happy, like some sort of euphoric wonder-drug is coursing through my veins a mile a minute. Out of the jumble of thoughts whirling through my mind, one simple fact screams out loud and clear above the confusion – the fact that I know I want him in my life forever, and that I know he feels the same way. I can't help but wonder exactly how long the ring had been there in his jeans pocket, just waiting for the right excuse to make its presence known...

Without further hesitation, I slide the symbol of promise onto the fourth finger of my left hand.

It fits perfectly.

* * * * *

To say that Dad and Liane were completely shocked by our news is a drastic understatement. Naturally, Eric gleefully basked in their astonishment and challenged them to do anything about it. Before tempers started to fray once again, I became decidedly more diplomatic about the situation, assuring our parents that Eric and I had no plans to run off and get hitched any time in the near future. All of us quickly came to the conclusion that the day had been very emotionally charged and we all needed our space for the evening. Despite Eric's vigorous protests, Liane left with my dad to spend the night at my old home, leaving me and Eric with the Cartman household to ourselves. It felt kind of strange, to think that Liane would be sleeping and...doing things with my dad in the bed where my Mom used to sleep and...do things with my dad. But I guess it's no stranger than having to deal with your Jewish son being gay with the local Nazi.

After they'd left, Eric told me about the ring. It's an antique Victorian ring from 18th Century England and used to belong to his great grandmother. She left it to Liane in her will, who in turn gave it to Eric when he turned thirteen. She told him to give it to the person who he knew he would spend his life with. He'd considered pawning it a few times when he was strapped for cash, but for some reason had always decided against it. I'm glad he did – it's really beautiful, and it means so much that he'd give me something so special. I've decided I'm gonna make it my mission to find something equally as special to give Eric in return. Plus the fact that I'm the only one wearing a ring makes me feel like the girl again.

We didn't keep our news to ourselves for long. I knew Stan had plans with Wendy tonight, so I sent him a quick text message for him to read at his leisure. I really should have told him face to face or at least called him, but I figured his reaction would be more hilarious if I caught him off guard. The text said something along the lines of, 'HOW ARE YOU? SAW CONDEMNED TODAY – SUCKED! BASKETBALL THIS WEEKEND? CALL ME. KB. PS: I'M ENGAGED. WANNA BE MY BEST MAN?' He called about a minute later. I could barely hear Stan's stunned, breathless and somewhat reluctant words of congratulations over Wendy's horrific shrieking in the background. Apparently, she'd read the text out to him while he was driving and he'd barfed all over her and the inside of his Cavalier. It's such a shame Wendy isn't an emetophiliac. Judging by the amount of Roman Showers she gets, she'd be the most sexually satisfied woman in all of South Park.

Eric considered calling Butters, but decided he wouldn't be able to take the ear-splitting squeals of joy that the good news would evoke and called Kenny instead. He was really pleased for us and came over right after he got off his shift at the J-Mart. He shook both of our hands in congratulations and sat on the couch laughing his ass off as we told him the story of how Eric had come to pop the question.

'Well, congrats on making the most unromantic proposal of marriage in the history of mankind, Cartman,' Kenny comments as he calms down from his laughing fit.

Eric snorts dismissively. 'Whatever. If Kyle wants flowers and poetry, then he's said yes to the wrong guy.'

'Nah, flowers are for pansies,' I say, nudging him playfully. 'And poetry sucks ass.'

He smirks at me. 'Totally.'

Kenny grabs my hand and pulls it close to his face to get a better look at the ring.

'So where'd you get it, lard-butt?' he smirks wickedly. 'A gumball machine?'

'Fuck you, poor boy!'

Kenny shrugs. 'What? This rock is fucking tiny.'

'I'll have you know that was my great grandmother's ring,' Eric snarls indignantly. 'It's a regular family heirloom. And you might have noticed that the colour of said 'tiny rock' is a perfect match for Kyle's eye colour. Yet another sure fire sign that it was written in the stars that Kyle's fine ass was destined to be mine.'

My eyebrow quirks at that. 'Excuse me? Yours? I'll marry you but I'll never be your property, fatass.'

'Oh, really?' he smirks. 'Love, honour and obey, bitch. You'll make such a beautiful bride for me, Kyle.'

As he strokes my cheek in mock admiration, I can tell he's yanking my chain. So I yank right back.

'Me, the bride? You're the one who feels more comfortable in a dress, Ms Spears.'

'Do they even do the whole 'honour and obey' dealio at Jewish weddings, Ky?' Kenny asks.

Eric's face pales. 'Jewish weddings?'

'Hell yeah,' I smirk. 'If you're marrying me, it's gotta be a Jewish wedding. The Chupa, the Ketubah, the smashing of the glasses...the whole nine yards, dude.'

I'm not really interested in all that shit – we can get married by a pig on the back of a turnip truck for all I care. But it's worth it to see Eric's disgusted facial expression.

'Fuck that!' he declares. 'Except for the glass smashing part - that sounds pretty cool.'

'Ooh, that reminds me!' Kenny cries excitedly. 'I got you guys a little engagement present.'

He reaches into a shopping bag at his feet and pulls out a box crudely wrapped up with brown paper. He places it carefully on the coffee table in front of him, admiring his unrefined gift-wrapping skills with a noticeable level of pride. I feel a bit bad, considering Kenny's low income. He shouldn't be wasting what little money he does have buying us presents.

'You didn't need to do that, Ken,' I say softly.

'Ah, why the hell not?' he shrugs, grinning. 'You guys have been my best friends for years and I'm truly happy for you. I've just been paid anyway, so don't sweat it. Anyway, I really should be going.'

'Yeah, Craig's cock will be getting lonesome without you,' Eric cracks.

Kenny flips him off as he quickly escorts himself out. 'Up yours, tubby. Later, Kyle.'

'Bye, Ken,' I call after him. 'Thanks again.'

As the door closes, Eric scoops Kenny's gift into his lap. 'Okay, let's see what a share of that poor piece of crap's pittance is worth.'

I smile gently to myself – he doesn't sound it, but I can tell by the way that Eric so carefully unwraps our present that he's grateful for Kenny's generosity. A piece of paper is taped to the cardboard shoebox beneath the wrapping paper. Eric skims his eyes over it, then sneers and passes it to me.

'_Hey dudes!_

_Congrats once again on your news! _

_Luv and sloppy kisses,_

_Ken_

_PS: Sorry if it's a little bigger than what you're used to, Kyle. ;)'_

I look over Eric's shoulder and see a decent sized glass dildo peeking out from amongst a pile of shredded tissue paper. Further rummaging around reveals that our new friend is accompanied by some blueberry flavoured lube and a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs. It's a good thing Kenny made such a sharp exit. It saved Eric the trouble of beating him down and forcibly hauling his ass out onto the street.

'Oh...how, erm...thoughtful of him,' I muse.

'Yeah,' Eric snarls. 'He's really thoughtful when it comes to thinking of new ways to belittle my manhood.'

Scooping the artificial shaft out of the box, I observe its smooth gleaming surface with interest. I've never used a glass dildo before. I've never really wanted to. The idea of introducing anything glass into a body cavity freaks me out a bit. Especially after watching that 'one guy, one jar' thing on the Internet. Fucking sick, dude. I return the dildo to the safety of its tissue paper nest, place the lid back on the shoebox and put it to one side. Eric reacts eagerly when I slide into his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck as I straddle his hips.

'Forget Kenny belittling your manhood,' I purr. 'Why would I want a piece of glass inside me when I could have a piece of you inside me instead?'

That earns me one of his most precious smiles. 'You've had a piece of me inside you for years, remember?'

He reaches around me and gently squeezes either side of my lower back. Oh yeah - his kidney. And here I was, thinking that having Eric Cartman's organs inside my body was a new thing.

'You know, I never did thank you properly for that,' I say, winking playfully.

'You've done plenty to thank me over the years,' he grins. 'That little performance at the movie theatre this afternoon included. Which reminds me...we never finished what we started, did we?'

I reply by way of a hard kiss, grinding my hips against his forcefully. His fingers trail up my back and weave tightly into my hair as his tongue flickers against my lips. His lips aren't on mine for long before he works his way down my neck, hands releasing my hair so they can start unbuttoning my shirt. When he's down to the last button I shake the shirt from my shoulders, mewling slightly as his teeth nip firmly at my chest and nipples. He takes advantage of my pleasure-induced daze, pinning me onto my back against the couch as he continues to ravage my torso. His fingers make quick work of my zipper and he yanks my jeans down my legs. I kick out of them as he looks down and admires my sudden nakedness – since I knew we had a 'date' today I didn't bother with underwear this morning. I know he loves it when I don't.

He straddles my thighs comfortably, eyeing my taut bare skin approvingly. I arch my back and writhe against the couch when he takes my semi-erect cock into his hand. I feel his eyes on me, observing my every flinch and convulsion as he expertly jacks my cock. I let out a frustrated moan when he releases me and reaches over into Kenny's shoebox. I watch curiously as he pulls out the dildo and quickly starts smothering it with the lube. As I eye the heavy transparent sex toy, I suddenly feel a little uncomfortable. The thing looks safe enough, but at the end of the day it's made of glass – fucking glass! They're designed not to break but what if it's a defective product? I sound like such a Jew, but all the 'what ifs' that pop into my mind are too much for me.

'Err...we don't have to use that thing, you know?'

Eric shrugs. 'I don't mind.'

Goddamn it... When he's finished preparing the dildo, he sets it on the coffee table and continues jacking my cock and kissing around my belly button. The pleasure that he's giving me if heightened ever so slightly by the panic I'm starting to feel. I really don't think I want that thing in me.

'Just, I know Ken said...and if it makes you uncomfortable then...'

I wish I could remember how to be articulate when it comes to telling him no. I used to do it so well. He halts what he's doing to look up at my face. It doesn't take him long to read my mind.

'You scared of a little glass, Broflovski?'

I cringe at his entertained tone.

'No...fuck off.'

He chuckles softly, continuing his rhythmical ministrations on my cock again as his lube-coated fingers slide into me.

'So you don't mind a zucchini up there-'

'Shut up.'

'-or a toy gun-'

'I said shut up!'

'-or even a goldfish, a fucking **goldfish**, Kyle!'

'Shut the fuck up, Cartman!'

My yell is nicely rounded off by a low moan as his fingers brush against my sweet spot. A mixture of anger, embarrassment and rapture flushes my face as Cartman continues to tease me, in more way than one.

'A harmless little professionally manufactured glass dildo really freaks you out? Or maybe it's just not kinky enough for you. Perhaps I should go outside and drop it on the sidewalk a few times. You know - shatter it a little, create some nice sharp edges for you.'

'Just shut your fucking mouth and stick it in me, fatass!'

His grin intensifies to the point that it's blinding. 'Gladly...'

He removes his fingers and collects the dildo from where he left it. I felt my heart ready to explode in my chest. I know it's very unlikely that something bad will happen, but the idea of it still haunts the back of my mind. I feel the cold head of the toy press against my entrance and somehow the fear I'm feeling starts translating as anticipatory pleasure. I shiver violently, which Cartman arches an amused eyebrow at.

'Don't worry. There's plenty of band-aids in the bathroom if you start bleeding to death.'

'I said fuck o-oh!'

My moan comes out shaky as I shudder pleasurably. There's something unusually nice about the smooth cold feel of the glass as it invades me. The not so modest girth of the toy is stretching me out beautifully too. I feel the cool rounded tip of the dildo slowly work its way upwards and jab at my prostate. I nearly fly off the couch in shock - the jolt of pleasure I received was so harsh that I felt like I'd been electrocuted. Cartman slowly retracts the dildo, then pushes it back in again for another delightful jolt. As he builds up speed and the friction against my insides increases, the glass starts to heat up to match my body temperature. This is actually really awesome, and somehow a lot less impersonal than a zucchini. It's still not as good as Cartman's cock, but a close second.

'You like that, Kyle?' he growls. 'My little slut likes dicing with death, doesn't he?'

Any reply I have melts into a groan as he returns one of his hands to jacking my cock and fondling my balls. He seems to be enjoying himself immensely, trying to work out how to make me react in different ways to different levels of stimulation. He's still fully clothed, and I think that's how it's gonna remain. While I'd rather see some skin from him, I know he's quite happy this way. He doesn't need to get naked to get off on having absolute maximum control over what I'm feeling.

'Know what the best thing about doing you like this is?' he purrs.

'Wh-what?' I stammer.

'I can fuck you in the ass and at the same time, give you a little of this...'

Without another word, he captures the head of my cock in between his lips and suckles lightly. I automatically buck my hips, causing the dildo in my ass to brush my prostate again as I move. I feel Cartman chuckle, jiggling the glass sex-toy inside me as he draws my pulsating shaft further into his mouth. This is unbelievable. I've never been fucked and sucked at the same time before. I wonder if this is what having a threesome feels like. Imagine - a threesome with two Cartmans. That would be so awesome. I wonder if that Mephesto dude is still into cloning...

Relishing my newfound fantasy, I close my eyes and enjoy the feeling of Cartman's talented mouth and tongue pleasuring my cock. I grip either side of the couch cushion beneath me as I roll my hips, urging him to suck me harder and fuck me deeper with his glass assistant. I almost can't decide what feels better – the enthusiastic lips around my shaft or the slippery thick rod stretching out my ass. The two combined feelings of utter bliss are too much for me to handle for long.

'Oh, God! I'm gonna come...'

A short gasp and a few moans later, my body starts to quake as I empty my seed into Cartman's mouth. I feel his hand giving my flat stomach soothing strokes as I shudder and moan out the rest of my orgasm. Once I'm finished, I sigh deeply and slowly open my eyes. Through my blurred vision, I notice him gulping as he carefully removes the dildo from my ass. I think that's the first time he's ever swallowed. I could be wrong though – I'm not exactly thinking clearly right now.

He settles on the couch beside me, watching me closely as I recover. After a while the room starts to darken. The moonlight pours in through the front window, turning my pale skin slightly blue as I lay naked and panting in my boyfriend's arms. Or should that be 'fiancé's arms'? Fiancé... That's gonna take some getting used to. I think I'll stick to the word I'm comfortable with for now. 'Boyfriend' sounds faggy enough without throwing a pansy Frenchie word like 'fiancé' into the mix.

I moan softly as the velvety material of the couch caresses my bare skin. Has this couch always felt so comfortable? I could easily fall asleep here. Although it does kind of disturb me to think that we caught our parents making out on here all but a few hours ago. I wonder what else they've done on this couch... I probably shouldn't think about shit like that. It's totally ruining my afterglow. I wonder if they're anything like us though. I grin to myself as I imagine Liane calling my dad a stupid Jew, and Dad calling her a fucking fatass in return. It seems unlikely. But I wonder what the attraction is. I wonder what it is that they see in each other - whether it's some sort of convoluted formula, like it is with us. And I wonder if they're outrageously happy, like us...

'Eric?'

'Hmm?'

'Are you gonna kill my dad?'

I almost decide against bringing the issue up, not wanting to ruin his mood. But to my surprise, he laughs.

'You know what...' He pauses thoughtfully before continuing. 'I'm still far from happy about the situation. In fact, I'm straight up pissed off about the whole fucking thing. But there's this part of me, a tiny part, that's trying to make me see reason. A little Jewrat that has burrowed its way into my mind and is telling me to look on the bright side.'

'So what's the...little Jewrat telling you?' I say cautiously.

Hopefully not 'Kill, kill! Kill them all!' Eric absently glances over at the picture-frame on the coffee table containing the photo of him and his mom together before sighing, sounding somewhat defeated.

'That things change. That my mom is a grown woman who is capable of making her own intelligent choices, and that she could do a lot worse than your dad. And that even though Gerald's a sneaky Jew for hooking up with my mom, he's still a good guy who would treat her the way she deserves to be treated. And that although it's pretty fucked up that we're, you know...'keeping it in the family'...part of me is so fucking stoked that today has worked out in the way that it has.'

The lighting is too dim to see but I can tell by his tone that he's smiling, if only slightly. He reaches down and interlaces the fingers of his left hand with those of mine. As our palms move to mould together, that perfect emerald gemstone on my finger flashes in the moonlight.

Today has left me feeling pretty fucking stoked too.

* * * * *

_Meh. That was tough to write. If it seemed rushed, that's probably because it was. I can't remember the last time I slept properly, so please forgive me if I've made a total monkey's testicle of this chapter._

_I figured that you guys are either gonna totally love or totally hate the marriage proposal part. I had no idea how I was gonna write those two in that exchange until I came up with the idea of keeping the whole thing totally unromantic. Unromantic marriage proposals crack me up. But love it or hate it, it's happened. And it's not something I've done just because it's cute and funny – it's very relevant and plays an important part in the remaining four chapters._

_Chapter 27 will be somewhat Butters-centric. And we might just find out who Kyle's stalker is. Then again, we might not..._

_See you guys soon!_

_DD_

_Xx _

_**PS: I'**__ve had a number of people querying why the boys are in college if they're only 16. Just to clarify - I'm British, and in the UK the age you go into college is sixteen. I wasn't aware that in the States, it's older than that. I guess we poms just develop a little faster than you yanks do. ;) (I'm kidding, don't shout at me.) So it's just been poor researching on my part, I'm afraid. Hope that clears things up for you._


	27. Malapropos

_Author Notes: It's been a while, dudes! Thanks so much to all you guys who read/reviewed the last chapter. Seriously, where the hell have you all come from? It's been like the most reviewed chapter thus far. Not that I'm complaining. The more the merrier says I, so thanks to everyone! This chapter isn't as long as some of the previous ones, which is odd 'cause I feel like I've worked on it forever. It still exceeds 6,000 words though, which is pretty long in the grand scheme of things. Erm...I'm pretty sure I had about a million and a half other things to say in my opening author notes this time around, but I've forgotten them all. So, on with the chapter! Enjoy!_

**Chapter 27 - Malapropos**

When I woke the next morning, I was once again greeted by the ring on my finger. It seemed to wink at me as it sparkled beautifully in the morning sunlight. My ring. My **engagement **ring…I can't believe I'm actually wearing one of these things. I mean, Jesus Christ…I'm engaged! I've actually promised somebody that I'll marry them someday! I know that I knew this yesterday, but I don't think the concept has sunk in properly yet. I never thought I'd ever get married – it's just not something that's ever interested me. I especially never thought I'd get married to Eric Cartman, of all people. It seems absurd – we used to plot to kill each other on what seemed like a daily basis, and now we're planning to spend the rest of our lives together.

The two of us as one forever, until death parts us…

Damn, that thought makes me nervous! I have no idea why. It's not like it's gonna happen for a long assed time. And besides, anything could happen between then and now, something that could change our minds... Not that I want it to, of course! My cynicism makes me cringe sometimes. As if to reassure myself, I watched Eric as he slept this morning. I reached out and gently stroked his chestnut hair as he nuzzled his face into his pillow, muttering something about 'Goddamn stinkin' hippies' in between gentle snores. I smiled as the butterflies in my stomach started to settle – I don't think I'll be changing my mind anytime soon.

Butters didn't get a ride with us this morning, which isn't unusual – he often doesn't after he's stayed the night over at Porsche's place. Taking full advantage of the absence of our talkative friend, Stan decided to spend the journey being a cocky asshole, ripping on me and Eric for taking such a huge step so soon. It was pretty much a repeat of what Kenny had said the night before. He even came out with the same 'ring from a gumball machine' crack. I think he's probably just narked that I agreed to Eric's proposal after so strongly advising him not to propose to Wendy. Whatever. Screw him – he and Wendy just aren't ready for that level of commitment. He continued to be uncharacteristically obnoxious until Eric remarked on the slight hint of vomit that was still lingering in the air. I don't think I've ever seen anyone shut their mouth so fast. Dating a smart ass definitely has its benefits.

During Psych, Bradley noticed the ring on my finger and asked about it. When I told him the news, his reaction was...weird to say the least. I can't really describe it – it was like his face sort of…darkened a little, like it made him angry or something. This totally blindsided me. Why would he be angry? Maybe he really does have a crush on me – that's the only thing I can think of to explain it. I guess I could be wrong though. Perhaps I totally misread him. I don't really know him well enough to know what he's like when he's angry. The more I think about it, it actually seemed like he was more confused than anything. A split second later, he hesitantly gave his congratulations and his usual easy smile return to his face, but still…it felt strange seeing that weird side of him for the first time.

I bumped into Butters on the way to my second class and told him the good news. He also had a pretty strange reaction. I mean, he still squealed like a manic when I told him but he was a lot more subdued than what I thought he'd be. His squealing just lacked its usual vigour, and it concerned me. Later on, I sat talking to him for a full free period and he was so unbelievably quiet, almost like he was thinking really hard about something. I must have asked him what was wrong at least a dozen times, but he just kept on shrugging it off. Knowing Butters, he probably just didn't want to kill my buzz by telling me what shit he had going on. It's probably something to do with his parents. I swear that his family life is more fucked up than mine, just in a very different sort of way.

Stan had gone home early, so Butters and I walked the half mile or so to the business park where Eric works. Again, Butters was painfully quiet during the walk. I wish he'd just spill it already, I'm starting to really worry about him. Maybe seeing Eric will pull him round. When the man in question emerges from his work's building, Butters does seem to snap out of his funk, at least long enough to give Eric a crushing hug and babble his congratulations. He's cut short when Eric shoves him away, yelling a string of obscenities to add emphasis. Thankfully, I don't get the same reception when my lips greet his in a silent hello. God, I love the way he grins at me after I kiss him. I know, it sounds corny. So sue me. I'm engaged – it's allowed.

We got the bus together into South Park, listening to Eric tell us the 'hilarious' story of how one of his workmates lost two of his fingers in one of the printing machines today. By the time the story ended, Butters looked kinda queasy and I couldn't help but feel sorry for the dude. The dude who lost his fingers, I mean. That would totally suck. I fractured a joint in my middle finger playing basketball when I was fourteen and there was a load of things I couldn't do properly for about a month. Writing, using a can opener, even opening doors was made difficult. Hell, jerking off was near impossible! I was shocked at how very much I relied on such a tiny part of my body. The fact that it was splinted made flipping people off pretty easy though. And I suppose losing your thumb would be a lot worse - you're practically taking a full step backwards on the evolutionary chart if you lose one of those. But still, two fucking fingers, man...

When we get off the bus, Butters still seems to be in kind of a daze. I've noticed that he keeps glancing at me, then looking away when I catch him. Why is everybody acting so strangely today? First Stan was a douche, then Bradley and now Butters is being a freak. Is a Nazi and a Jew getting engaged one of the signs of the apocalypse or some shit? Has the impending union of Eric Cartman and Kyle Broflovski caused the world as we know it to be turned inside out, thus creating a parallel universe in which everybody acts like a total freaking weirdo? I'm probably over-exaggerating just a little there. I'm so lost in my delusions of grandeur that it startles me when Butters finally speaks.

'Say, Eric? Does it matter which knee you get down on when you ask someone to marry you?'

If such a random question surprises Eric, he doesn't show it. 'I dunno. Why?'

'Well, it's just that I need to ask Porsche to marry me. And I wanna make sure I do it right, ya know?'

Eric and I exchange confused glances.

'Why do you **need** to ask Porsche to marry you?' I ask.

'Yeah, you got her knocked up or something?' Eric jokes.

Butters doesn't laugh. He doesn't even smile. His stoic silence says everything.

Ladies and gentleman, it's now time for yet another untimely bombshell...

'Butters, you fucking idiot!'

Butters flinches at Eric's harsh voice, holding his hands up defensively.

'I'm sorry! I dunno how it happened! I mean, I know **how **it happened, but I didn't mean for it to!'

'Goddamn it, Butters!' Eric yells, clutching the front of Butters' shirt. 'What was the one piece of advice that I gave you before you started screwing your ho? The one piece?!'

'Err...use protection?'

'Right! You had one fucking thing to remember, Butters! What was so hard about that?'

'Well, we **did** use protection!' he protests. 'Every single time!'

'Then how the hell did this happen? What did you think I meant when I said 'protection'? Setting the fucking burglar alarm before you got down to it?!'

Butters actually looks a little offended. 'I'm not **that** dizzy, Eric! We used condoms, always!'

'Trojan?'

'Huh?'

'Were the condoms Trojan, asshole?!'

'Err...no.'

'Goddamn it, Butters!'

'Well, you never mentioned Trojan before! Oh, geez! What am I gonna do?'

Before Butters hyperventilates, I prise Eric's hands from his shirt. I can't even remember the last time I was the voice of reason. I hope I'm not out of practice.

'For a start, don't go asking her to marry you,' I say firmly. 'You're not even out of school yet, dude.'

'Well, neither are you guys,' Butters points out.

I nod. 'Yeah, but we're only engaged because Cartman is an irrational retard.'

'Hey! **You** said 'yes', asshole!'

I ignore Eric's whining and continue. 'My point is that you don't need to be married to be a stand-up father.'

'**Butters**, being a stand-up father?' Eric splutters. 'Get real, Kyle! The best thing he can do is drag his ho down to the abortion clinic and get that little fucker sucked out of her before it's too late.'

Before I can scold Cartman for... well, being Cartman, Butters cuts me off and starts blithering.

'No! We've talked about that and neither of us wants that to happen. I really think that the best thing to do is to marry her. It's only right, to make an honest woman out of her and all. And I read on the Internet that if we don't marry, our baby will be a bastard. I don't want a bastard baby, fellas. I'm pretty sure my parents'll ground me if they find out I've been spreadin' my oats all over town, creating bastard babies. And Bradley said that if I have a child out of wedlock, I'll burn in Hell.'

'Well, Bradley talks a load of shit! What the fuck does he kno-'

I don't let Eric finish. 'Butters, listen to me. If you're both one hundred percent sure that you want to keep this baby, your first step is to tell your parents so that you can start making arrangements for it arriving. Or at very least, get some professional advice. Eric's mom works at the sexual health clinic. She can probably put you in touch with someone who can help.'

I guess my advice makes sense to Butters, because the tension in his body melts away almost instantly.

'Hey, that's right!' he grins. 'Your mom knows a whole lot about sex, right Eric?'

Eric's eye twitches noticeably at that. Butters didn't mean anything malicious by it though, and he knows it.

'Just fuck off home, Butters,' he growls. 'I'll get her to call you later.'

'Oh, alright then. Thanks for your help, fellas! And congratulations!'

He hugs both of us quickly then disappears off down the street. Dude...a baby? Poor Butters. Eric shudders.

'It's tragic to think that stupid assholes like that can reproduce so easily, yet couples like us will never get the chance.'

Wow. Of all the things he could have said right now, I really didn't expect to hear him say that. I guess he's always thinking of us – how flattering. I grin teasingly.

'I thought you didn't want babies with me.'

He arches an eyebrow, flashing me a small sheepish smile as he shrugs.

'I dunno. I think we'll make pretty good parents someday. We handled that situation pretty well.'

'There's a bit of a difference between giving a friend advice and raising a child, dude.' I laugh.

He smirks back at me. 'Are you kidding? With your smarts and my knack for _authori-tah_, we're flying. Now all we need is a way to render you physically capable of carrying my seed...'

He casts his gaze skywards, cupping his chin in his hand thoughtfully. I suddenly have a mental image of myself with a swollen belly bearing a tiny version of Eric Cartman, who laughs his evil baby laugh as he draws swastikas on my liver and uses my spleen as a punching bag. God, that's messed up. I can tell by Eric's amused grin that he's having a similar thought.

'I think you'll find that **you're** the one who's best equipped for seed carrying, fatass,' I crack. 'You have enough room for an entire litter.'

I poke him in his pudgy side, not expecting him to grab my fingers in his palm and wrench them backwards. I yelp in shock, twisting my hand to alleviate the pressure. When he releases me, I realise that I've somehow ended up in his arms, our chests pressed together. His hands splay across my lower back, pulling me closer to him. I lean against his body, tilting my head back to look into his teasing brown eyes as I kiss him lightly. I hear the breath catch in his throat, and my heart flutters.

'So am I to understand that you're not totally opposed to the idea of a little Kyric running around?' he murmurs.

"Kyric"? I am **so** totally picking out our kids' names. I slide my hand up his chest to his shoulder, drawing our attention to the ring on my finger.

'One step at a time, please.'

'Whatever you say...Princess.'

He anticipates the kick I aim at his shin and jumps away from me laughing. I growl and yell something colourful at him as I chase him down the street and up the driveway to our front door. I catch up to him as he struggles with the key in the lock, punching him in the shoulder firmly.

'I thought I told you not to call me-'

The firm kiss that he plants on my lips shuts me up. I hear him chuckle at the pleased moan that vibrates in the back of my throat as I wrap my arms around his neck. His lips nuzzle mine insistently as his large hands slide over my hips. God, his mouth is amazing when it isn't spewing out annoying bullcrap. Every so often he traps my bottom lip in between his teeth, biting down hard and causing my cock to stir in my jeans. He soon breaks away from my lips and attacks my neck, sliding his tongue along my jugular and suckling at my collar bone. I groan, slack-jawed as I rock my hips against his. It's obvious from the firm prodding my inner thigh receives that he's every bit as excited as I am...

And then he pulls away from me, casually turning his back and leaving me to lean against the doorframe panting like a lizard on a hot rock. My heart feels like a drum-roll in my chest. Damn, dude... He smirks and winks at me over his shoulder as he pushes the front door open. Bah – cock-teasing son of a bitch! Actually, it's just as well he backed off when he did. I would have gladly let him fuck me right there on the doorstep otherwise. Come to think of it, that would have been pretty fucking hot. I'm sure he'll make it up to me later though. He always does.

Once we're inside Eric goes straight to the couch, yawning loudly as he makes himself comfortable. I flop down beside him and take my binder out of my backpack. For once, I haven't got a huge assed essay to write. I just made a few notes in class today that I need to tidy up. As I write, Eric casually rifles through my binder. Wow - Eric Cartman, reading something that doesn't have any pictures? Now there's a rarity. I don't mind him looking at my papers – I look through his portfolios all the time. But at least his photographs are interesting to look at. Even **I **find some of the shit I write about for Psych class boring. He scans a paper I wrote a few weeks ago, both eyebrows arched.

'Jesus Christ, you know some long fucking words...'

I snigger as he continues to amuse himself by looking through my work. I very much doubt that he'll find anything that he understands, but at least he's interested.

'Whose writing is this?'

I look up again as he holds out a small piece of paper covered in scribbles.

_  
'Sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable just before. I'm just not very experienced at things like this._

Don't sweat it. You make a hell of a first impression! ;)

Thanks. So do you. ;)'

  
Oh! That stupid note. I thought I'd thrown that away. I guess I'd forgotten about it.

'It's Bradley's.'

I don't think anything more of it as I return to my work. After a brief silence, I realised that Eric hasn't so much as flinched. He appears to be reading the note over and over again.

'Why are you passing notes with that freak?'

I roll my eyes. 'We don't 'pass notes'. We passed **one** note on our first day.'

'Well, what exactly did he do to make you feel uncomfortable?'

'I don't know, it seems like forever ago...I think he just held onto my hand a little too long or something.'

'He was holding your hand?!'

I scowl at his scandalised tone. 'Not like that, dumbass! We **shook** hands, and he freaked out and didn't let go right away.'

'Well, it's nice to know you made such an 'impression' on each other...'

He pounces to his feet and stomps towards the staircase, moodily throwing the note into my lap as he goes. Oh great, a tantrum! And he calls **me** a princess? I sigh heavily, laying my notes on top of the coffee table as I get up to stop him. He halts on the staircase when my hand clasps his shoulder.

'Eric, don't start with the whole Bradley bullshit again.'

He snorts, obviously finding something really funny about what I just said. I don't get it. Why is he getting so pissed off over a stupid note?

'What's 'bullshit', Kyle, is that I'm worrying myself sick about you while you're off flirting with some dickhead behind my back.'

I recoil from him like he's just burst into flames. I can't fucking believe he just said that!

'Flirting?! What the fuck, Cartman? How many times do I have to say it? I'm not interested in Bradley!'

'Yeah, it really fucking looks like it when you're stashing his little love notes in your folder!'

'It's hardly a fucking love note!' I snap. 'I meant to throw it away. I'd forgotten all about it.'

He shrugs off my reasoning. 'I just **love** the winking-smiley face, Kyle. It's **such** a cute touch. I bet he **really** appreciated it!'

As his sarcasm overflows, so does my anger.

'Jesus Christ, are you really that goddamn insecure? How many fucking times do I have to prove to you that I love you?'

When those three words pass my lips, he actually rolls his eyes... I say 'I love you', and he rolls his fucking eyes?! I feel the inside of my throat swell and the backs of my eyes start to prickle. No way! I can't allow myself to cry over something so fucking retarded. I grind my teeth together as I quickly scan the floor, snatching the note up from where it fell from my lap and shoving it into his hand.

'You think this note means a damn thing to me? Here, take it! Do what you want with it…'

I pause to collect myself as my voice starts to crack. I've noticed by now that Eric's facial expression has suddenly changed from irate to guilty. I think he's just realised how stupid he sounds and how much he's hurt me. Good – I hope he feels really fucking bad about it too. I sure do.

'That note means nothing to me,' I continue. '**Bradley **means nothing to me. Do you understand that? Don't you trust me?'

'Yes!' he splutters.

'Then what the fuck is up with you accusing me of going behind your back? I've all but officially agreed to spend the rest of my life with you, for fuck's sake! What more do you want from me?'

I hold my left hand up in front of his face, brandishing the ring pointedly. He stares at it sorrowfully, the regret obvious in his eyes. The note suddenly flutters to the floor again. Eric clasps a hand to his mouth and seems to go slightly pale, and I seriously think for a moment that he's going to throw up. He turns and sits on the staircase, holding his head in his hands and staring at the floor beneath him. I hesitantly sit down too, leaving plenty of space between us. I really don't feel like touching him right now. We're both silent for a long time until he speaks so quietly I can barely make out what he's saying.

'You're right. Kyle, I'm so…I'm so sorry.'

I don't say anything as his hands slide up his face to the top of his head. He makes a frustrated sound and tugs on his hair harshly.

'Goddamn it, I'm so fucking stupid! I **know** you wouldn't screw around on me. I just…I don't know what got into me. I'm just stressed out, you know? There's just been so much shit going down lately. And there's still someone's out there who wants to hurt you. And I still have no fucking clue who it is, or how to stop them...'

I had a feeling that's what the source of his outburst would be. I slide my hand across his back, rubbing in small soothing circles. His back muscles are solid – he's positively rigid with tension. I guess he really is stressed out. Over me. That sucks.

'You can't always protect me,' I murmur. 'It's not your responsibility.'

'But I want it to be.'

'I know...'

He slowly raises his head and although he doesn't look at me, I get a good look at his face. I can tell that he's on the verge of tears. We both are. Goddamn it, this situation sucks ass! We're both just so fucking stressed out about this letter thing that it's starting to bubble over. I think we just need a break from each other, a chance to chill out before we both explode. I get up from the stairs and start towards the front door.

'Where are you going?'

My hand squeezes the door handle as Eric's alarmed voice torments my ears. I'm really not in the mood for answering to him right now.

'I don't know. For a walk?'

'I'll come with you.'

I hold up my hand, halting him as he makes to follow me. I know he doesn't want me going out on my own, but tough shit. I'm feeling very frustrated right now. When I'm frustrated, I lose my temper. I really don't want that to happen.

'Eric, please. I just need some time alone to clear my head.'

'Kyle, I don't think-'

'I won't go far.'

'Even so, you-'

'I'll keep my cell on.'

'But what if you-'

'Goddamn it, will you stop being so fucking possessive? I'm not your property! All I want is to walk by myself in the neighbourhood I grew up in! Is that too much to ask?'

I don't wait for him to respond as I slam the door shut behind me. I feel my face burning red as I stomp down the street. Fucking shit! I really wish I hadn't lost it and yelled at him like that, but he practically pushed me to it! I know he's only being more possessive than usual because of this whole death threat bullcrap but as much as I understand that, I really need some room to breathe. I feel like I can't even take a shit anymore without him banging on the bathroom door checking that I haven't been assassinated with the toilet brush.

I soon find myself walking by South Park High. It's late afternoon now, so nobody is around. Perfect – a little time alone is just what I need. I find myself automatically heading towards the clearing where Eric and I used to get together in the early days of our 'relationship'. I never would have dreamed back then that we'd be like this now. As I make my way further into the trees, more and more memories flood into my mind. When I reach the centre of the clearing, I go straight to the tree where Eric carved our initials once. I ripped on him for hours for it because I thought it was such a fucking cheesy cliché thing to do. He didn't care though. As I run my hand over the crude engraving, the ring on my finger catches my eye. I sigh and reach into my back pocket for my wallet, taking out the photograph of us kissing in Colorado Springs. We look so perfect together that it brings tears to my eyes...

Goddamn it...I love him so much. He might be a fucking idiot sometimes but he's **my **fucking idiot...

When I hear nothing but the wind rustling through the trees above me, I suddenly realise what a fucking idiot **I **am. Someone is sending me dead threats and I come to an isolated enclosed area alone? Not a smart move. I'd better get out of here. As I start to leave, I hear twigs snapping behind me. Uh oh... Maybe I'm just being paranoid. I daren't turn around, so I just hold completely still and listen. At first there's nothing. Then just as I'm about to continue on my way, I hear the crunch of more twigs snapping underfoot behind me. My heart lurches in my chest and I break into a sprint, bounding over fallen tree branches and shoving my way through bushes. I can hear grunting as someone gives chase, matching my pace as they crash through the undergrowth. Holy shit! I'm in so much trouble!

The outskirt of the clearing comes into view and my heart does a small dance of victory. Just when I'm sure that I'm home-free I trip, yelping in dismay as I fall flat on my face in the snow. Oh my fucking God! I can't let them get me! I panic, floundering like a beached fish as I struggle to get to my feet. I'm almost there when the footsteps behind me close in. A firm hand clamps down on my shoulder, and I scream.

'Kyle? My God, what's wrong?'

My cry for help freezes in my throat. I know that voice. I flip onto my back and look up into the turquoise eyes of the person above me.

'Bradley?' I squeak.

He nods slowly, eyeing me like I've lost my mind. What in the blue hell is he doing here, creeping around in the bushes? He looks alarmed when I scramble away from him.

'Why are you here?' I demand.

'I...saw you go in there. You looked upset, so I followed you. I just wanted to see if you were okay. Sorry if I scared you.'

I release the breath that I've been holding in. I guess that makes sense. Except for...

'I thought you lived out of town.'

He shrugs. 'I do. I just swung by Butters' place. I'm on my way home now. Are you alright?'

He reaches his hand out to me. I suppose it's pretty likely that he would have been at Butters' place – after all, they're pretty tight and Butters is going through a bit of a crisis right now. And besides, surely if he was an anti-Semitic nutcase who wanted to kill me, he would have done so by now? I feel like a bit of a jackass as I look into Bradley's kind eyes – how could I ever have suspected him of messing with me? I think I get what Eric meant about the effects of the stress we've been under – I'm starting to become paranoid too. I take Bradley's hand, allowing him to pull me to my feet.

'I'm fine,' I sigh. 'It's just...Eric and I had a sort of fight type thing.'

I don't know why I felt the need to volunteer that information, but it's out there now so there's not really much that I can do about it. Bradley gives me a sympathetic look as he brushes the snow and dead leaves from the front of my jacket.

'I'm sorry to hear that. Wanna talk about it?'

I nod, leading the way to the front steps of the school so that we can sit down. Although I'm not sure Eric would approve of my choice of company, at least I'm not out here alone anymore. When we reach the steps I sit shakily, still feeling the adrenaline rush from our chase. Bradley drops down beside me, a little too close for my liking but I don't care enough to comment on it – I've had more than enough of petty disagreements for one day. I clear my throat, wincing at how raw it feels. I must have looked like such a fucking idiot, face down in the snow screaming like a maniac. I'm surprised Bradley didn't run a mile from me. How embarrassing! I laugh awkwardly.

'Sorry I flipped out at you before. It's just with this whole letter thing...'

He smiles warmly. 'It's fine, really. Say no more. So what happened with you and Eric?'

I'd better gloss over the details here. As much as I don't wanna lie to Bradley, I really don't wanna get into the whole 'Eric thinks you want me' thing. It'll probably just embarrass both of us and make Bradley feel even more uncomfortable around Eric than he already is.

'It was just a little argument over something stupid, but I think it just seemed a lot worse than what it did because of all the stress we're under lately. It's just...he's so intense sometimes. I love him for it but it's just getting too much, especially ever since this whole threatening letter thing. I know he's worried about me but I just feel so suffocated by him sometimes, you know?'

Wow – I got a real load off my chest there. I haven't even told Stan any of that stuff. I think Bradley just has one of those gentle trustworthy faces that make you feel like you can come out and tell him all of your life's worries. He stares at me for a moment, chewing on his thumbnail thoughtfully.

'Well...why don't you leave him?'

Huh?! I almost fall off the step in surprise. I can't believe I just heard him say that!

'What?!'

He nods curtly. 'I'm serious. It may seem drastic, but look at what he's doing to you. It just seems like he's causing more stress than what he's alleviating. You don't need this right now.'

Jesus Christ... I take a deep breath, recovering from his harsh 'advice'. I guess part of me understands why he would say something like that. We're pretty good friends, so he probably wants what's best for me. But he just doesn't know me or Eric well enough to fully understand our circumstances. I decide to try and make light of the situation.

'Nah, dude!' I laugh. 'Cartman's a psychotic domineering jackass sometimes, but I'd never leave him. He loves me and makes me happy.'

'But is he really what you need?'

'Of course. I don't know what I'd do without him. I know we're both stressed out right now but once that's all over with, everything will be fine.'

Bradley sighs pityingly, and I feel his hand take mine. I instantly dislike his touch, shuddering a little at how icy his fingertips feel. I'm not used to cold hands touching mine. Eric's hands are always so warm...

'I know you care about him, Kyle,' Bradley says softly. 'But try not to let that blind you, just for a moment. Think of it from an outside perspective. You have to admit that he's obsessed with you to the point that it's unhealthy.'

Again, he has a valid point – Eric does seem a little obsessed with me at times. But he's just an obsessive kind of person - always has been. I shrug.

'He's just very protective over me.'

Bradley shakes his head. 'No, he's controlling over you. **Very** controlling. He's so paranoid that one day you're going to wake up and want to find someone better that he has to constantly keep tabs on you. It seems that every time I turn around, he's done something else to lock you in. Having your friends watch you all day, calling you every hour, putting a ring on your finger out of the blue. It's not normal behaviour, Kyle.'

I sigh – he just doesn't get it. 'Look, I know it seems excessive but it's normal for him. You don't know him the way I do. He's always very full-on.'

'Normal for him or not, it's still worrying behaviour,' Bradley counters. 'To be perfectly honest, I wouldn't be at all surprised if it was him who sent you that letter.'

'What?!'

I yank my hand away from his in disgust. Is he fucking serious? The horrified look on my face doesn't seem to faze him.

'Think about it, Kyle. Maybe he wanted to put you in a position that would force you to see him as some kind of hero, a saviour from the horrible fate your 'stalker' has in mind for you. I really don't know. But whatever the reason, you have to admit that it's been the perfect excuse for him to tighten his hold on you even more.'

As his words sink in, I feel like crying again. The thought of Eric even considering doing something so outright cruel to deliberately scare me breaks my heart. It just wouldn't happen now though, not after all we've been through. Maybe back when we were nine, it would have been a possibly. But not now. Never now...

'No...' I whisper. 'No, that's just crazy... I can't believe that...'

Unaware of how upset I am, Bradley continues talking.

'You know. Butters has told me how much Eric used to be into all that anti-Semitism and Nazi Germany stuff. Maybe deep down, he still feels that way.'

'Bradley, please...'

'Maybe he secretly hates himself for loving you, and that letter was his way of-'

'Stop it, Bradley!'

He looks stunned when I yell and leap off the step away from him. Judging by how nervous he looks, I must have my really angry face on – the one I inherited from my mom. Even Eric is scared of that particular face, so God knows what Bradley is thinking right now.

'K-Kyle...I'm really sorry,' he stammers. 'I...I'm probably wrong. I've probably just been reading too many psych books lately. It was just a stupid theory, okay? Please don't be mad at me.'

I hold up a hand to silence him. I'm understandably pissed off and really don't want to hear his excuses right now.

'Yeah, whatever. Look, I'm going home.** To Eric**. See you around.'

Before he can reply, I turn my back and practically run from him. I'm back to feeling furious as I dash towards the school exit. I can't believe the nerve of that guy - sitting there acting like he knows me so damn well, trying to talk me into dumping my boyfriend! My **fiancé**, even! What an opportunistic asshole. It's no wonder Eric doesn't like the guy – he must have seen something in him that I didn't. He's a pretty good judge of character most of the time. I should probably learn to trust in his instincts more often. Hopefully if I tell him that when I get home, he won't be too upset with me for storming out like that. He loves hearing me tell him he was right, after all.

Just as the school gates come into view, I'm grabbed in a headlock from behind...

_What the hell? _

Before I know what's happening, a damp rag is clamped over my mouth...

_Oh shit, this isn't good! _

I breathe in to cry out and inhale a big lungful of alcohol fumes as I'm dragged behind a wall...

_Oh my God, what the fuck am I going to do? _

I try not to panic as I struggle wildly, but my attacker keeps their arms locked tight across my chest...

_Shit, I'm getting light-headed! _

All I can think of is how right Eric was as the strength escapes my body and my world slowly turns black...

* * * * *

_I'm not entirely happy with this chapter. The first half was really hard for me to write, for some reason. I just couldn't get it to 'click'. I think it got better in the second half though. I think I've picked a really good place for 'Kyle in Chains' to end. Don't get me wrong – I love this story to death, and I'm glad so many other people do too. I think it's just starting to get a little stale for me, which is taking its toll on my ability to write it. I need something fresh to get my teeth into. I'll definitely finished 'Kyle in Chains' first though, however crappy it may turn out to be! Three chapters to go, people!_

_Anyway, poor Kyle! What am I going to do to him? Hmm...I dunno. I can be pretty evil when I want to be. Chapter 28 is gonna be fun to write!_

_Despite my general dislike for it, I hope this chapter was somewhat enjoyable. Thanks for reading and let me know what you thought, guys and gals! (Though I'm assuming it's mostly gals – any guys reading this thing? Let me know. I'm curious!)_

_DD_

_xx_


	28. Testify

_Author Notes: Been a while again, peeps! Thanks for the reads/reviews of the last chapter. This chapter was a lot more fun to write than the last one, but finding the time to do it has been difficult. Again, it's nowhere near as long as my previous chapters, but it does the job effectively so I'm not too bothered about the length of it. Enjoy!_

**Chapter 28 – Testify**

My brain slowly awakens to darkness. Oh, boy…what the hell has happened to me?

I think I hear something…leaves rustling and light footsteps crunching in the snow…

I feel a cold breeze brush my face and I start to stir…

Damn, dude…my head is fucking killing me…

In fact, every part of my body is killing me. Even opening my eyes is painful…

I can see now that I'm back in the clearing, of all places. I know exactly which tree I'm currently sitting under – I've had my back pressed up against it enough times in the past to be able to instantly recognise the view in front of it. It's the tree that Eric carved our initials into. Why do I get the feeling that it's no accident that someone has chosen to dump me here?

The feeling of the cold snow beneath my ass starts to get to me and I shudder. Jesus Christ, my balls are freezing! When I try to move, I hear the clinking of metal chain links and find my wrists are firmly fastened to the tree. I helplessly tug at my bonds a few more times before admitting defeat.

'Fucking great,' I mutter.

'Oh, you're awake! Thank goodness for that!'

My aching muscles protest against my body's jerky reaction to the sudden voice beside me. I turn my head slowly, finding a warm smile and kind eyes staring down at me.

'Bradley?'

He nods without a word, oddly not at all concerned by the fact that I'm clearly spaced out and chained to a tree. After a few more moments, he still hasn't spoken or made a move to help me.

'What the hell is going on?'

His smile widens as he drops down to kneel at my side. Uncomfortably close, once again. I unconsciously squirm as he places his hand on my knee.

'Well, Kyle…it's just that I can't help feeling that we didn't finish our conversation on the right note.'

So…he's knocked me out and chained me up so that he can give me more unwanted relationship advice? Sure – that makes sense! I narrow my eyes, managing to shuffle my knee out from under his hand.

'I don't wanna hear anymore about what you think of Eric, Bradley,' I growl. 'We've been over this. I'm not leaving him, he isn't controlling and he certainly didn't write that letter!'

'Oh, I know he didn't. That was me.'

What?! It takes a moment for me to truly internalise what he's just said. No way! Something's up here – this has to be some kind of sick joke that some fucker is playing on me. I've never even heard Bradley use so much as a minor curse word, let alone hurl a load of racial abuse at anyone. He looks serious though. It can't be…

'You? You wrote that letter?'

He nods. 'I believe that's what I just said.'

Seriously, what the fuck? I can't believe how casual he sounds about it! 'Oh yeah, I was the one that spewed all that hateful bullshit that had you practically paralysed with fear. That's cool, right?' Jesus Christ! He notices the horror on my face and holds his hands up before I can speak again.

'I actually wanted to start by apologising for that. Please understand that it was nothing personal. Aside from the whole denying Jesus thing, I don't particularly have anything against Jews. I mean, when all is said and done we both have faith in God, don't we?'

I stare incredulously at his ever-optimistic smile.

'Then…why?'

'Isn't it obvious by now? I had to make that letter horrible enough to make that idiot boyfriend of yours react in the way he did. It didn't take me long to figure out what an irrational head-case he is. Or what a stubborn, quick-tempered individual **you** are. It's basic psychology, Kyle. I used that letter to make waves - to play you off against each other and to get you away from him. And my plan worked perfectly…'

His smile suddenly turns kind of demonic, enough so that it makes me shiver. Who the hell does this guy think he is, a Batman villain?

'Well,** almost** perfectly,' he continues. 'Clearly, I underestimated the level of your 'feelings' for him. His corruption of you runs deeper than I originally thought. So I had to take more drastic action. On that note, I'm sorry about your head. Do you feel okay? Only you hit it pretty hard when I knocked you out…'

Ignoring his question, I cut to the chase. 'So are you gonna kill me or not?'

He stares at me blankly for a moment, and then laughs like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard.

'Of course not! That would be sinful! And besides, I wouldn't do that to someone that I love.'

My eyebrow flickers. 'Love?'

His face softens again as he nods. 'Of course. I love you, Kyle. Very much...'

When he reaches out to touch my face, I flinch away violently. It's bad enough that I'm having to engage in conversation with this crazy fucker – he sure as hell isn't touching me! And as for loving me…

'I'm flattered but I think that your methods of seduction need a little work.'

He frowns, though seemingly not at my latent sarcasm. 'Seduction? Oh, I think you misunderstand! I don't **love you**, love you!' He starts laughing again. 'My goodness! You fags and your perverted minds!'

My eyebrow twitches once again. 'Fags?'

'Sorry to put it so harshly but that's what you are, my friend,' he shrugs. 'Gay, homosexual, queer…whatever way you want to dress it up, to me you're nothing but a revolting fag.'

So…not an anti-Semite, but a homophobe. I don't know which is worse. I feel tempted to point out that you can't get much faggier than knocking a guy out, tying him to a tree and telling him that you love him. But I'm not entirely sure what this guy is capable of anymore, and so am decidedly more diplomatic.

'If I'm a 'revolting fag' as you so aptly put it, why did you bother becoming my friend? I assume that Butters told you about me and Eric?'

He nods. 'He did. And usually I'll avoid your kind like a plague. But you're different, Kyle. I realised that from the day that I met you, and since then you've earned my respect. There's something very special about you, something that I can't quite put my finger on. But as it stands at the moment, you're in grave danger.'

'From you?' I sneer.

Bradley shakes his head. 'No. From God.'

Oh, here we go… I was always sure that when my mom found out about my sexuality, playing the religion card would be her first plan of attack. At least I'm well prepared for such an argument. I say nothing, prompting Bradley to continue.

'I believe there's hope for you, Kyle. I've seen so many young people corrupted by the evil ways of the faggots fall to the wayside. They're Hell-bound and cannot be helped. Your Eric is one of them. He won't change. You, though...I can see that you have the potential to change, to do what's right by your God. Repent your sins, Kyle. Beg your God for forgiveness for your sick desires.'

I flinch at the mention of Eric's name. Sometimes I do feel like loving him is a sin - I don't think anything could feel that fucking good and not be sinful. But regardless of whether it is or isn't, I've always been pretty sure that God has better things to do than worry about who I'm knocking boots with.

'There's nothing sick about my desires,' I say firmly.

Bradley gives me a sympathetic look and lays his hand on my shoulder. I try to squirm away, but he holds on tight and the chains stop me from going any further.

'I know you don't really believe that,' he says. 'The devil has gotten to you, Kyle. He's taken control of your mind and your tongue, forcing you to think and speak these lies. You need to be saved, my friend. How can I, with a clear conscience, allow you to go off into the world and council children while you think the way you do? Do you really want to force your twisted beliefs onto vulnerable kids, telling them that it's okay to defy their God and grow into a dirty Hell-bound faggot?'

This fucker is deranged! Does he honestly believe that I want to be a child psychologist so that I can abuse my power and brainwash kids into being gay? As offended as I am, I still feel it's probably best that I don't rise to his taunting. It's like I just can't be bothered to lose my temper or something. I suppose inhaling anaesthetic substances will do that to a guy.

'No, that's not what I want to do,' I say evenly. 'But if a child asked for my opinion of homosexuality with regards to religion, I'd advise them to use their own judgement rather than simply buy into the bigoted, out-dated teachings of some ancient book.'

That earns me a glare. I feel oddly satisfied for making him react like that. Bradley turns his nose up at me and pulls his backpack onto his lap. I watch silently as he produces said ancient book and starts thumbing through it. I notice that he's using a photograph of me as a bookmark. Christ on a pogo stick, that's creepy! As disturbed as I am, I can't help but smile a little. What is it with guys who claim that I repulse them secretly carrying my picture around with them?

'Bradley…are you sure you don't just feel this way because you're in absolute denial of who **you** really are.'

His head snaps upwards. 'What?'

'Denial, Bradley?' I repeat, smirking a little. 'I'm saying that maybe you feel this way because deep down, you're a 'Hell-bound faggot' too. I mean, it's basic psychology. Right?'

I notice the slightest sliver of anger in his face, but it quickly melts and makes way for his usual eerie smile.

'No, Kyle,' he says calmly. 'You couldn't be more wrong. I'm ashamed to say that once upon a time, I **did** feel that way. But I know better now. I faced my demons and became clean. Don't you see what I'm trying to achieve here? I want you to cleanse your soul and go to heaven, Kyle. You deserve it. But St. Peter will laugh and slam the pearly gates in your face as long as this black cloud of sin hangs over your head.'

'Can the holier-than-thou evangelistic bullshit already,' I try to sound bored, fighting to keep the rising anger out of my voice, but I'm starting to struggle. 'Look, if you really respect me as much as you say you do, you'll untie me so that we can talk about this properly. I'm not exactly comfortable like this.'

And that's an understatement! He considers my point silently for a moment.

'Alright. I'll untie you. But you have to make me a promise first.'

'I'm not promising you shit!'

Is chloroform supposed to give you mood-swings? Because I've just decided that I'm far beyond being mindful about restraining myself. Seriously, **now** he wants a promise from me? Is this guy for fucking real? He frowns at my sudden snappiness.

'In that case, you'll be chained to this tree for a very long time.'

He makes a fair point. I guess I'm in no position to be playing negotiator. I sigh irritably.

'Fine - what promise?'

Smirking, he reaches around the back of me. I feel his cold hands take mine and his thumb stroking over the base of the ring finger on my left hand.

'I want you to promise that the second I untie, you'll remove this ring from your finger.'

I blink cluelessly. 'Why?'

'It is a symbol of your defiance against God. Only once it has been removed can we begin the healing process. Will you take it off?'

'No.'

In fairness, I never promised Eric that I wouldn't ever take the ring off. And I'm pretty sure that if he knew the dilemma I was in, he'd be telling me to do whatever was necessary to ensure my safety. But as far as I'm concerned, it's a matter of principle. Bradley seems to scowl at me.

'Kyle...'

I cringe as the grip on my hand becomes tighter. There's a harsh alien edge to his voice, almost like he's trying to scare me with his tone. It's kind of working, but not to the extent that I'm willing to let him have his way.

'God has nothing to do with this ring, Bradley. This ring is a symbol of the love I share wit-'

A sudden flurry of movement cuts me short, and I wince as the back of Bradley's hand cracks against my cheek. I'm stunned, finding it hard to believe that he just hit me. It doesn't hurt as such – I've had worse. But it definitely shocks me. When I look back around at his face, his eyes are narrowed into slits, his jaw tightly clenched. My heart starts to speed up. God, he looks fucking scary.

'Don't you dare use a word like 'love' to refer to your sick sinful fag behaviour!' he hisses, his voice low and dangerous. 'I'll only ask you once more, Kyle. Take the ring off!'

Oh well, when he puts it like that…

'Never.'

'Then you leave me with other no choice…'

He sighs aggressively as he turns away to fish around in his backpack. It isn't long before he produces what appears to be a pair of pruners. Randomly carrying around garden tools? Seriously, can this guy get any freakier? I have no idea what he has in mind until I feel him grasping for my ring finger again. What a fucking idiot! This ring is 18 carat gold! There's no way he's gonna be able to cut through it with…

Unless it's not actually the **ring** that he…

Oh, shit...

I cry out in terror and try to clench my hand shut, but he's too strong for me. He bends my finger right back and sure enough, I feel the metal sheers clamp and dig into the skin below my ring. They get tighter and tighter until I hear a sickening crunch and my head spins. The pain doesn't register straight away, but when it does it hits me like a tonne of bricks. I scream in agony, my chest heaving as I start to sob. I almost throw up when I see Bradley calmly admiring the bloodstained ring on my severed finger before hurling both away into the bushes. He lifts my face with sticky fingers, smiling sweetly at me.

'There. Now that wasn't so hard, was it?'

'You're fucking insane!'

My fierce screaming doesn't seem to faze him. He tenderly wipes the tears from my reddened cheeks, smiling all the while.

'If I am, it's been the frustration of watching you that's made me that way,' he gushes. 'I couldn't stand the thought of you being banished to the fiery depths of Hell. All of this is for your own good. I **will** save you, Kyle.'

'But why do you care so much?' I whisper hoarsely. 'Me being gay doesn't affect you in any way. Why can't you just live and let live?'

'I already told you,' he says, slightly impatient. 'Why can't you see? It's all because I care so very much about **you**, Kyle. It's like they always say – love the sinner, hate the sin. And don't worry - I plan on letting you live, just as soon as you're cured.'

'I'm not fucking sick, damn it!'

'But you are. You have a very potent sickness, and denying it won't get us anywhere.'

He releases my face, studying my expression a moment longer before reaching over to his backpack again. Oh fuck, what now? I squint my damp eyes shut as my finger continues to throb. I can feel my hand getting more sticky and wet as more blood escapes. My brain feels like its pulsating and spinning on an axis inside my skull. Blood loss, chloroform and head injuries are clearly not a good combination. When I open my eyes, Bradley is knelt in front of me, rosary beads and Bible in hand.

'The unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God – Corinthians 6:9.'

Oh, for crying out loud... My good hand fumbles desperately behind my back. I try to reach into my pocket for my cell phone, but I can't find it. The Riddler here probably swiped it from me while I was unconscious. Fuck…

'You shall not lie with a male as those who lie with a female; it is an abomination – Leviticus 18:22.'

God, I wish Eric was here right now. I'd do anything for him to come crashing through those bushes like a poor man's knight in shining armour, yelling obscenities and wielding his trusty flick knife. That would teach Bradley not to mess with me. **His** Jew.

'Therefore God gave them over in the sinful desires of their hearts to sexual impurity for the degrading of their bodies with one another – Romans 1:24.'

In my mind, I replay the last kiss I shared with Eric on the doorstep. I think over our last conversation, which just so happened to be an argument - how strangely appropriate. And I feel my heart ache at the fact that the last time I said 'I love you' to him, he rolled his eyes at me. And why? Because of some motherfucking asshole who I thought was my friend, who currently has me chained to a tree listening to him quote passages from the Bible.

'Because of this, God gave them over to shameful lusts. Even their women exchanged natural relations for unnatural ones. In the same way the men also abandoned natural relations with women and were inflamed with lust for one another. Men committed indecent acts with other men, and received in themselves the due penalty for their perversion – Romans 1:26 to 27…'

Bradley looks up from his book and into my glassy eyes. He prods me in the chest insistently, shattering the image of Eric's face in my mind.

'Are you listening, Kyle? This is important.'

'I don't give a fuck what the Bible says, Bradley!' I snap.

He glares into my defiant eyes, bringing his face a mere inch from mine as he recites one more passage from memory…

'Leviticus 20:13 – If a man lies with a male as those who lie with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination...and they shall surely be put to death.'

My breath catches in my throat. I **really** don't like the way he said that...

'Co-come on, dude!' I stammer. 'You're a smart guy, Bradley. You've gotta know that there's nothing wrong with being gay.'

He smirks at me, shaking his head. 'Those are the Devil's words, Kyle.'

'I'm not the Devil, Bradley,' I say, soft and pleading. 'I'm just a boy who happens to love another boy. I'm not evil. I'm just gay, and it's normal.'

He flinches visibly. His eyes seem to cloud over with a haze of anger.

'Normal, you say?'

When I nod, he lunges forward. I expect him to hit me again and cringe, screwing my eyes shut. But they quickly snap back open when I feel cold thin lips grinding viciously against mine. I try to pull away but his hand is relentless in my hair. The other hand clutches my chin, forcing my mouth open. I try to scream but it comes out more like an erratic mumble, his thick tongue acting as an effective gag. He jerks his head to the side, firmly crushing my nose down with his own. I start to panic when I realise that I can't breathe, but no amount of struggling seems to help. A literal kiss of death. Surely this isn't how it's supposed to end?

After what seems like a lifetime, Bradley begins to release the pressure. His tongue retracts into its own mouth and his nose no longer smothers my own. Just when I think it's all over he delivers his parting shot, his teeth clamping down on my bottom lip and tugging roughly. My muffled cry becomes a full blown yell as he yanks away, tearing a small chuck of flesh from my lip as he goes. Blood cascades down my chin and wells up in my mouth, threatening to choke me as I gasp for air. Bradley's hand twists in my hair, pulling my head back and forcing me to look at him. His eyes are emblazoned by fury as he spits a mouthful of blood to the side, staining the snow crimson.

'You think this is 'normal', Kyle?' he yells into my face. 'You think this is pleasant?'

'No!'

'Exactly!' he sneers, sounding triumphant. 'Now we're getting somewhere! It's a horrible sickness that you have, Kyle. A cancer. And we have to-'

I don't let him finish. He looks startled when I spit into his face, pebble-dashing his cheeks with tiny spatters of blood. He stares bewildered at the rage in my face, and actually looks a little afraid of me for a second. He should do. If I ever get out of these chains, he's a dead man. But until then…

'Fuck you!' I hiss. 'You dare to call **me** sick? You oughta take a long hard look at yourself, you twisted fuck!

The hard spine of his Bible collides with my temple. My vision falters for a second and I see four angry turquoise eyes glaring at me as more blood trickles down the side of my face.

'Repent! Say you don't love him!'

Once more, Eric's tender brown eyes flash through my mind.

'No!' I scream. 'There's nothing you can ever do to me that'll make me say that!'

'We'll see about that…'

Bradley casts his Bible to one side and moves to straddle my hips. I turn my face away in case he tries to assault my lips again. To my horror, I feel him fumbling with my zipper. My head snaps back to the front and sure enough, he's unfastening my jeans. Oh, no…

'Bradley, please don't!'

My heart thunders in my chest as he smiles at me, his face disfigured by red polka-dots and my blood staining his teeth a sickly shade of orange.

'Have no fear, Kyle,' he murmurs. 'I'll make you see how vile your feelings are. I'll cut the cancer out of you, just as easily as I cut that blasphemous ring from your finger.'

Fears rocks my body and I tremble beneath him, squirming violently as he tries to hold me still. I can't believe he's willing to take things this far. I close my eyes and start to think of Eric. Maybe if I pretend it's him touching me instead, the experience won't seem so bad. But imagining such a thing is made near impossible. The cold hands, the brusqueness, the sharp fingernails tearing at the flesh of my hips. Nothing about this experience could ever remind me of Eric. His control, his warmth, the way his every touch makes my heart swell…

My eyes fly open as the cold wind hits my exposed crotch…

This can't be happening…

Icy fingers curl around my limp cock, fondling clumsily…

Oh God, Eric…

I make one more strenuous effort to break my bonds, silently praying for them to miraculously crumble away. The miracle never comes…

Please someone, help me…

I watch feebly as Bradley's other hand strokes my chest soothingly before retrieving something from the snow beside us - the pruners.

The pruners?

Fuck!

My eyes widen in terror.

'Bradley, don't! Please, no! I'll do anything! Just stop!'

He ignores me, carefully positioning the bloodstained tool against my cock. I start thrashing around wildly, bucking my hips in an attempt to throw him off me. I almost cheer when I see the pruners fly out of Bradley's hand, but cry out in frustration when he swiftly overpowers. He pins my shoulders against the tree trunk, shaking me hard as if trying to calm my hysteria.

'It's for your own good, Kyle! It won't hurt if you just hold still!'

My head slams backwards against the tree trunk over and over, and I start to feel so woozy that I could puke. As Bradley regains complete control of my exhausted body, I can feel myself starting to lose consciousness. Through my blurred vision, I can just make out Bradley making a grab for the pruners. It's just as well that I'm passing out, really - I sure as hell don't wanna be awake for this. Patches of blinding white flash in front of my eyes and quickly swirl into black. The pain starts to fade, and I'm vaguely aware of familiar voices shouting as the darkness overcomes me once again.

* * * * *

_Another cliff-hanger. I'm such a shitbag! Anyway, yeah…Bradley has issues. Namely, he's a closet case who is so torn between his love for God and his lust for other men that it's driven him demented. I hope that came across clearly, LOL. A lot of you guessed that he was the letter writer, but was his motivation a surprise? I hope so. I'd hate to think that I've become predictable._

Am I really cruel enough to make Kyle a eunuch? Did I choppy choppy his pee pee? Find out next time! Unfortunately, I don't know when 'next time' is gonna be. My laptop HDD has died for the second time in so many months and I've lost my notes for chapters 29 and 30. I still have the basic premise in my head, but it may take me a while to get it typed up again. Most annoying… Hopefully, it won't take forever. Two chapters left, dudes!

Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you thought!

DD

xx


	29. Unify

_Author Notes: Once again, thank you all for the insane amount of reviews I got for the last chapter. I really appreciate it! Apologies for the massive delay in updating this time. I'm not going to bore you with my excuses. Just enjoy the penultimate chapter! I like that word… 'Penultimate'… _

**Chapter 29 - Unify**

After what feels like decades of nothing but darkness, my eyes finally snap open to a scene of purple walls and navy curtains. For a second I feel disorientated, but quickly come to realise where I am. A smile creeps onto my lips as the familiar comforting smell of Eric's bedroom surrounds me. I can feel the morning sun pouring in through the window and warming my face. I can hear the muffled chirping of a few birds as they roost in the tree outside. Snuggling into the soft bed-sheets and breathing in the serenity, I shut my eyes again as my racing heart slows to a steady pace. I don't think I can even remember what had me so worked up in the first place…

I wince when I suddenly notice how stiff my body feels. Damn, you would have thought that I'd been sleeping forever. I can practically hear the joints in my back creak as I arch it. My movement causes something to stir next to me. I turn sharply and see Eric by my side, propped up on one elbow as he openly gazes down at me. His chestnut hair is stuck out at all angles and the slightly bronzed skin of his broad shoulders glistens in the morning sunlight. I smile fondly, welcoming his lips as they delicately brush mine, banishing any nightmares that may threaten to plague my mind.

When we part, his warm smile seems to resonate in his eyes, causing them to glow prettily. Before I have a chance to say anything, he moves to straddle my hips, engulfing my body with his familiar heat and scent. His soft hands trail up my arms, interlacing our fingers together and pressing my engagement ring into my palm. That's funny – I don't remember taking it off. I suppose I must have done… Grinning teasingly at the bewildered look on my face, Eric leans in and kisses my ear before whispering:

'I just can't seem to lose sight of you, Jew…'

My confusion melts into content as I wordlessly permit him to slide the ring onto my finger. My heart soars at Eric's approving smile, and I close my eyes happily as he swoops in for another kiss. But when my eyes open, my world has changed. Purple walls and navy curtains have dulled to dismal gray. The songbirds are now silent, and the soft sheets feel like sandpaper against my skin. Most noticeably of all, Eric is gone from his perch astride my hips. In his place is Bradley, face contorted into an expression of pure disgust as his cold hands grip onto mine.

I gasp silently as a clammy palm tightens around my ring finger, snapping it from my hand as if it were a twig from a branch. Eyes blazing and wild, Bradley rakes at my t-shirt with razor-like fingernails, shredding the material to ribbons. My pants are disposed of just as easily, leaving me exposed and at his mercy. I try to struggle, but find that I'm paralysed. I open my mouth to scream, but no sound can come. My eyes search the room for Eric, but I can't find him. Helpless, I tremble. I've never felt more alone.

'It's for your own good, Kyle. It won't hurt if you just... hold... still!'

Fear locks a death grip around my throat as Bradley's evil smirking face hovers no more than an inch above mine. I screw my eyes shut and all of a sudden, I find my voice.

'Eric!!'

* * * * *

When my eyes open once more, my frightened screams seem to fade out into an echo. It takes a moment for me to realise that I'm no longer trapped in that black desolate abyss. There's no more Bradley, no more wicked fingers gripping my throat or tearing at my skin. Just a pure white tiled ceiling, accompanied by sounds and smells that are unmistakably those of Hell's Pass. I blink heavily, a wry smile tugging at my lips. Well, well - I haven't had a dream as fucked up as that one in a while. But exactly how much of it was based on reality? I'm trying to remember, but my memory seems overcast. Everything's just so fuzzy…

Slowly, the clouds begin to shift and images of what happened with Bradley come flooding back to me. Being knocked unconscious following our disagreement. Waking up handcuffed to a tree, on my ass in the cold snow. Bradley declaring his love for me, despite my being a 'filthy Hell-bound faggot'. Those retarded ambiguous Bible passages. And those Goddamn fucking pruners…

The pruners!

I wince as the surgical tape holding an IV line into the back of my hand resists the grab I make for my crotch. Regardless, I continue to fumble blindly, desperate to find out whether or not I'm still in one piece. Damn it! I can't quite reach. If only I could get just a little closer…

'Don't worry, dude. It's still there.'

Huh? I immediately stop trying to fondle myself when I hear a soothing friendly voice, one I recognise straight away. Cringing as I suddenly realise how sore I really am, I slowly turn my head in the direction of the voice, meeting concerned blue eyes.

'Stan?'

He offers me a weary grin. 'How are you feeling?'

'Lousy. Where's Eric?'

I totally don't mean to sound rude. But as relieved as I am to wake up to my best friend's face, I can't help feeling a little disappointed that it isn't Eric by my side. I can tell Stan understands this as he gestures to the other side of the room. I follow his gaze, and my heart seems to skip a beat or two when I see Eric asleep on a small couch by the door. Although he appears to be out for the count, I can tell that he's not sleeping peacefully. His face is marred with worry, and I suppose it's obvious as to why.

'He's been up all night watching over you,' Stan says, apparently reading my mind. 'You know, telling the doctors how to do their jobs and stuff. He wanted to know every detail of everything they were doing to you. I swear he had every test, every drug, every bandage accounted for!'

'Yeah,' I snigger despite myself. 'That sounds like him. Obsessive to the brink of absurdity.'

'I can understand why he would be. We really thought we'd lost you for a while.'

I shudder at that, almost feeling guilty in a strange sort of way. I can't imagine what everyone I care about has been through because of this - particularly Eric. At least I've pulled through though. I honestly didn't believe that I would.

'How did I get here, by the way?'

Stan shrugs dismissively. 'It's kind of a long story.'

I can't resist rolling my eyes. 'I'm in no hurry to be anywhere, dude.'

He looks thoughtful for a moment, absently fiddling with my bed-sheets and ensuring that I'm well tucked in. I try not to smirk, but I do - it's almost as if he's gearing up to tell me a bedtime story or something.

'After you walked out of Cartman's house, Butters called him up on the phone. He was all upset because Bradley had come over and gone postal on him for deciding to take your advice. He said something about this town being overrun with sinners and stormed out. It got Cartman thinking, and he realised the German writing on that death threat you were sent matched Bradley's penmanship on the note that he gave you.'

Damn, I would never have thought to make that comparison! Then again, I never would have suspected Bradley. I suppose the fact that Eric is a paranoid suspicious headcase has its advantages after all. I shake my head in disbelief.

'Damn, dude... I must have seen Bradley's handwriting pretty much every day since we started college. How could I have been dense enough to miss that?'

'Well, Cartman said he'd clearly made an effort to disguise his writing. Apparently there were a couple of glaring similarities though, not ones that are obvious to what he described as 'the untrained eye'. Like the way the letter F was looped and the overall slant of the writing or something... Anyway, the minute Cartman made that link, he called me and Ken. And we tracked you down together.'

I smile at that. The old quartet, reuniting for yet another bizarre adventure. Just like old times.

'So how did you guys find me?'

'Cartman figured that you'd go to those trees by the school to blow off steam. It's a good thing he was right. I just wish we'd got there a little sooner…'

He glances sheepishly at my left hand, which is so heavily bandaged it looks like I'm wearing a big white boxing glove. I try to wiggle my fingers, but it's impossible. Judging by the look on Stan's face, the answer to my next question is obvious. I ask it anyway.

'There was nothing they could do?'

'While I drove you to the hospital with Cartman, Kenny hung back to watch Bradley and wait for the police. He managed to find your finger in the snow, but it was so wet and shrivelled by the time he got it here that the doctors weren't able to do anything with it…' He cringes visibly, pale-faced. 'Sorry, dude.'

I lift my mummified hand to my face. So, I only have four fingers now? Well, three if you discount my thumb. Huh...bummer. I shoot Stan a sardonic grin.

'It's cool,' I sigh. 'I suppose things could have been worse. **Much** worse…'

As I glance towards my midsection, I notice Stan shudder out of the corner of my eye. All things considered, I'd say their rescue was pretty darn timely...

'Not that I care, but where's Bradley now?'

'In a hospital on the other side of town, under police surveillance,' Stan replies, smiling weakly. 'Cartman did a real number on him. Fortunately for Bradley, he'd left his switchblade at home.'

I daresay that was fortunately for Eric too. I don't know how I'd handle having a jailbird doing twenty-five to life for first degree murder as a boyfriend. Still, it doesn't stop the sadist in me from feeling mildly disappointed.

'Well, I hope he managed to disfigure that twisted fucker at very least,' I growl. 'Even without the use of his knife.'

'Hey, don't let Cartman hog all the credit,' Stan says, acting indignant. 'Me and Kenny got our digs in too.'

A wicked grin spreads across my face. Yeah...I hope Bradley really enjoyed having his ass handed to him by a quarterback **and** a hood-rat, as well as a sociopath with no conscience. Awesome!

'Thanks, dude.'

'It was my pleasure...'

I feel Stan's strong hand gently squeeze my shoulder as he winks playfully. Somehow, I feel very blessed to have three friends that care about me so much. Or rather, **two** friends and my-

'Kyle?'

The sudden manifestation of Eric's distinct voice draws the breath from my lungs. I turn and see the apprehension in his chocolate eyes. Poor thing – he looks so freaked out. So frightened... I smile, softly and reassuringly, hoping that doing so will somehow soothe him. Though he stares blankly at me for what feels like a long time, every passing second works at moulding his lips into a gradual joyful smile. The silence is broken when Stan clears his throat, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck with his hand for lack of anything better to do.

'Anyway, I'm gonna, err...go and find Ken before all the hot nurses here take out a restraining order against him. Again. So, err…see you soon.'

He hastily leaves my side and backs out of the room, closing the door behind him to ensure our privacy. Eric's eyes refuse to leave mine as he slowly gets up and crosses the room. He leans over me carefully, his lips parted slightly as he seems to mouth something unidentifiable. In turn, I desperately search my exhausted brain for the perfect thing to say to him. But it's a wasted effort on both our parts. We don't have to say anything.

A split second later he's captured my mouth with his, kissing me like he's making up for years of lost time. I moan softly as the wound on my lip throbs deliciously from the friction. His warm hand engulfs mine, and his thumb delicately stroking over the surgical tape is enough to make me shudder. God, it feels so good just to feel him touching me again. Something warm and wet splashes onto my cheek. There's no way of really telling who the lone teardrop belongs to. I'm not so sure it matters at this point. There was a part of me that truly believed I'd never get to see him again. For once, I'm glad I was wrong.

He reluctantly pulls away from me, if only to allow us both to breathe. His eyes sparkle with a layer of unshed tears, and before he speaks I can practically hear him mentally commanding himself not to cry.

'You okay?'

I smile as he coughs hoarsely, trying to shift the crackly quality from his voice. Unable to help myself, I reach up with my bandaged hand and dab the solitary tear track from his flushed rounded cheek.

'I am now.'

He laughs hesitantly, rolling his eyes at my corniness as he dives back in for a second kiss. I feel his fingers crunching through my dirty matted hair and can't help cringing. God, I must look like shit right now. I feel like I haven't bathed in a week. That and with all these wires and tubes sticking out of me, I must look like some kind of genetic experiment gone wrong - complete with missing body parts! The fact that he's willing to kiss me even when I'm in such a state makes me feel even more loved by him than usual.

When we part, our faces remain inches from each other as his eyes scrutinise mine. It's not long before his usual easy grin appears, sending a wave of warmth through my body. Despite the dull pain I'm feeling from head to foot, I've never felt so happy or safe as I do right now. Eric squeezes my hand as he clears his throat, his normal voice having returned.

'I was talking to your mom earlier. On the phone. Her and Ike are getting the next flight out here.'

Huh?

'My mom? Really?'

That was the last thing I was expecting to hear! I guess bad news spreads fast.

'Well, Stan talked to her first and she asked him if she could speak with me,' Eric blithers, still clearly perplexed by the whole thing. 'I was totally not up for it at first. I was expecting her to be full of hell, blaming me for everything. Stan insisted I talk to her though. But it was cool, 'cause she was...nice. **Really** nice, actually. I guess your ever-charming BFF must have sweetened her up or something. She even **thanked me** for looking out for you! It was fucking creepy, seriously...'

He looks as freaked out as I probably do. I open my mouth to speak, but then close it again. I mean, what can I say? Could this whole horrible situation really have caused my mom to have some sort of miraculous random change of heart? I'm not so sure myself. But it'll be interesting to see what she has to say for herself when she gets here. It'll be good for a laugh, if nothing else.

'Oh, and your dad came by while you were still in surgery,' Eric continues. 'He left saying something about reading up on every law he knows to get that fucking asshole Bradley the utmost maximum punishment for what...'

His voice trails off as it begins to crack again. Breathing shakily, he slowly eyes me from top to bottom as if he's only just taking in my prone appearance for the very first time. Cursing under his breath, he clamps his eyes shut and bites down on his quaking bottom lip. My heart lurches up into my throat. I hate seeing him like this.

'Eric, it's okay,' I say softly. 'I'm alright now, see?'

I squeeze his hand insistently until he opens his eyes again. He studies my hand in his, refusing to look at my face as a single tear manages to escape him.

'When we found you, you were fucking...bleeding like a stuck pig,' he croaks. 'And you wouldn't respond, not to anything. It was like the time I found my mom, only so much worse. I really thought I'd lost you for a moment. I never want to feel like that again...'

I pull his hand up to my face, brushing it lightly with my lips. He glances up, making eye contact as I nuzzle my face into his palm.

'You'll never lose me,' I whisper. 'I promised you, remember?'

I sigh happily when he smiles. I know I've said it before, but sadness just isn't becoming of him. Having pulled himself together, he smirks at me brightly.

'On a lighter note, the doctor says you can keep your severed finger if you want. Isn't that the coolest?'

I stare at his enthusiastic expression incredulously for a moment.

'...Are you kidding me?'

'No, I'm seriously! We could keep it in a jar on the mantel. Or you could just carry it around with you in a matchbox.'

He's joking. I think.

'No, thanks.'

'You sure? It would be a hell of a conversation starter at parties.'

He flashes me a goofy grin, which for some reason draws a girlish giggle from me.

'I really don't think I need a souvenir to remind me of this whole fucked up experience.'

He shrugs, slightly disappointed. 'Yeah, I guess not... I still can't believe that asshole tried to cut your dick off!'

I raise an eyebrow at the sudden flash of anger in his voice, but quickly find myself agreeing with it.

'Yeah, that Bradley kid's a total fucking freak,' I say, stating the obvious. 'You were right about him all along.'

'Told you so! You really oughta start listening to me more often, my dearest Jew.'

He sounds so frigging arrogant that I seriously consider biting his finger when he gives my nose an emphatic prod. I resist though.

'Nice work with recognising his writing, by the way.' I figure I might as well get the compliments out of the way while he's already feeling smug. 'I never realised you were a master of graphology.'

'Oh, I'm a master of a lot of things...'

Smirking wickedly, Eric slides his hand down from my face and under the bed-sheet covering my chest. His fingers splay against my torso, gently massaging the tense flesh through the material of my pyjama top. I sigh attentively, enjoying the feeling of his hands on me until his fingers start to slip beneath my bottoms.

'What are you doing?'

He doesn't reply, instead choosing to grasp loosely at my cock. I hiss and shudder, flushing slightly as his slightly damp palm fondles my hot skin.

'I'm just making sure that the doctors have been taking good care of my property,' he murmurs.

'Dude, we're in the middle of a hospital!'

'So? No one's watching.'

'Dude!'

'Hush, Jew! What did I just say about listening to me?'

I gasp harshly as he starts lazily jacking my cock. My flesh springs to life at break-neck speed, rapidly hardening in his hand.

'I don't believe you!' I splutter. 'I was just nearly made a eunuch and you think it's appropriate to molest me?'

Eric presses his free hand to his chest, feigning a hurt expression.

'Molest? I'm just letting Little Kyle know how much I value him. He's had a very stressful time lately. He needs to unwind, wouldn't you agree?'

'You really have no sense of decency, do you?'

I roll my eyes at the humungous smirk he grants me.

'I think you know the answer to that by now, my love.'

Before I can reply, his other hand descends and journeys beneath the bed-sheets also. I squirm, unable to do very much to stop him due to my one bandaged hand and the drip line restricting the other. I whimper helplessly as I feel thick fingertips caressing my balls. Now that Eric has both hands working me, I'm unable to do anything but lie back and enjoy the attention I'm receiving. I suppose I could always push the panic button and have him thrown out... but I guess at least he's helping me to forget about the pain I'm in.

Mewling softly I lean my head back against my pillow, arching my hips slightly as Eric's skilled hands stroke my throbbing cock. I close my eyes, starting to surrender myself to the friction. This may be totally inappropriate considering where we are, but damn it feels good! Just as I'm really beginning to enjoy myself, I feel a cold glob of what feels like jelly being smeared over the head of my cock. An instant later, Eric removes his hands from under the bed-sheets. Grinning, he sits back with his hands clasped together, watching me wordlessly. I stare back at him, clueless as to what he's done to me or what he's waiting for.

'What the hell was that?' I ask flatly.

'You'll feel it any second.'

I cock my head to one side. Feel what? All I can feel right now is something cold on my... My brain suddenly shuts down when the head of my cock starts to tingle. Oh... The tingle gradually erupts into a pleasant burning sensation, almost like the feeling you get in your mouth after eating spicy food. Hmm...this is different. Whatever it is, it's enough to makes my insides tremor. Although not unpleasant, it's a little bit freaky. I glance at Eric, wide eyed and starting to pant.

'What did you do?'

He grins wider as he gages my reaction, slowly opening one of his hands and revealing a small tube.

'Stimulating cream,' he says simply. 'It's designed for use on the female clitoris, but there's no reason to let the bitches have all the fun.'

I open my mouth to speak, but all I can manage is a muted squeaking sound. The cream's effect is starting to intensify, making my flesh sizzle and obligating my body to tremble. I notice Eric licking his lips at my breathless quaking form.

'Mm, yeah...You like that, Kyle?'

I do, actually. I don't get a chance to say so before he leans in and kisses me deeply. A shiver races up my spine when Eric moans sensually into my mouth, his tongue sliding in between my lips. His breath-taking kisses do nothing to calm the sweet irritation below my waist and I writhe powerlessly beneath him. He soon moves his attention to my ears, biting and suckling at the lobes and purring softly. All the while my cock seems to have taken on a life of its own, buzzing with a strange sort of static electricity and sending subtle jolts of pleasure into my body's core.

'Would Little Kyle like a kiss?' Eric moans huskily. 'Would he like to feel my lips around him, the tip of my tongue trailing all over him?'

He slides his hand up my pyjama shirt, tweaking and toying with my nipples. I gasp harshly through clenched teeth. My weary body feels ultra sensitive right now, and has an almost violent reaction to his every touch. I rock my hips uncontrollably, groaning as the damp material of my bottoms envelopes my burning shaft.

'You'd like that, wouldn't you? My mouth gently caressing your firm creamy skin, sucking and nipping at your balls? Would you like that?'

His hand leaves the confines of my shirt, trailing down towards my stomach. For a moment I think he's going to show mercy and return to my cock, which by now is all but screaming to be touched. I'm sadly mistaken. Instead, he brushes his teasing fingertips over the skin of my stomach and down over the inside of my thighs. I buck my hips in a pitiful attempt to encourage his hand to touch my tortured shaft, but to no avail. My frustrated moans turn to gasps of pleasure as Eric's lips and teeth graze my neck. He runs his hands up and down my body, continuing to stroke and caress the skin of my thighs, my ass, my stomach, my chest – everywhere but the one area that really needs it. It's teasing in its wickedest of forms, and I love it.

Somewhere deep inside me, an explosion starts to build. For every inch of my flesh that Eric's fingertips cover, the impending eruption swells. Every time his teeth clash against the sensitive skin of my neck or ear, my inner fire burns fiercer. My body prickles as sweat starts to pool on my skin, and my chest begins to heave as if I'm sobbing. Eric shoots me a sexy smirk. He knows I'm almost there.

'Come for me, Kyle. Come right in your pants for me.'

His command is undeniable. My entire body shudders as I climax, releasing a wave of seed into my pyjama bottoms. The convulsions that rock my body are so intense that it hurts, but its well worth the agony. As my body starts to cool I hear Eric chuckling softly into my ear, his fingertips tickling my stomach while I recover. The instant I get my breath back, I bring my bandaged hand up and punch his shoulder with all the strength I can muster. Which isn't much, but it's enough to get him whining.

'Hey! What the hell was that for?'

'Because you're a fucking idiot!' I growl. 'How in the hell am I gonna explain **this** to the nurse?'

I gesture wildly towards my concealed crotch, feeling more than just a little uncomfortable as the spatters of cum start to cool against my skin. Not surprisingly Eric merely shrugs, grinning like the mad son of a bitch that he is.

'Just tell her the truth. Tell her your boyfriend is so super hot and sexy that he made your horny Jew-cock explode without even touching it.'

I roll my eyes at his crude wording. He really doesn't have any decency whatsoever. But I think I love him all the more for it. I couldn't help but notice a glaring error with what he'd just said though...

'Fiancé, you mean?'

His eyebrow arches at that. 'Huh?'

'You're not my boyfriend. You're my fiancé. Remember?'

I find myself smiling shyly at the look of amusement that comes over Eric's face.

'Of course,' he says with a nod. 'Which reminds me...'

To my surprise, he reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out my ring. I never thought I'd see it again. It's a good thing Kenny's so good at finding things.

'Yours, I believe.'

He takes my right hand, gently sliding the ring onto the index finger. I almost point out that it's actually Jewish tradition to wear engagement rings in such a way, but it's unnecessary. He's bound to know. His thick fingers thread into my hair as he presses his lips to my forehead, and I'm positive the feeling of bliss that bubbles in my stomach has very little to do with the morphine coursing through my veins. There's a stronger sort of drug at work here. Eric's eyes meet mine again, and he smiles as beautifully as I've ever seen him.

'Love you, Jew.'

'Love you too, fatass.'

* * * * *

Change is a funny thing.

Like when I was younger, I really hated Eric Cartman. That stupid big annoying fatass. I hated him so much I would lose sleep at night just thinking about him and his fucked up ways.

'_...You're going down, Jew boy.' _

'_In your dreams, fatass....' _

After coming to terms with my sexuality at the age of sixteen, I decided that my feelings of hatred were in fact repressed feelings of lust. So I went for it, even though I knew full well what kind of risk I was taking in doing so.

'_...Why do you want to do this with me?' _

'_Because I think it'll be awesome...' _

Every single day since I made that choice, I've watched my relationship with that annoying fatass transform before my eyes. The mysterious force that once repelled us from each other suddenly started drawing us together, like an unstoppable gravitational pull.

'_...I don't wanna share you anymore. Is that...selfish?' _

'_Not at all. I don't like sharing my toys either...' _

I could only sit back and observe in awe as our supposed deep-rooted hatred for each other melted into unbridled lust, and then later into a love so strong that not even the ferocity of our own stubbornness could tear it apart.

'_...Don't fucking pity me.' _

'_I don't. I care about you. There's a difference...' _

As time goes on, I'm still unable find a reason to regret making the choice I made that one fateful drunken night, even though I'm sure that some people would disagree…

'_I'm extremely disappointed in you, Kyle.' _

'_I know. I just don't care anymore...' _

But despite what the cynics say, I never want to look back…

'_Repent! Say you don't love him!' _

'_No! There's nothing you can ever do to me that'll make me say that...' _

I never want to stop this magic, to break this mesmerising undeniable spell we're bound by…

'_I belong to you...we belong together.' _

'_You bet your ass we do!' _

Because sometimes, change is a good thing...

But other times, you're just better off in chains.

* * * * *

_I know what you're thinking- that last line there sucked donkey dick. It's a lame pun on the lame story title, and doesn't make any sense. But it took me half an hour to think of it. Seriously, that's half an hour's work right there. No wonder I update so fucking slowly… _

_To be honest, I came dangerously close to having Kyle die in hospital in this chapter and writing the final chapter with Cartman as the narrator. But in the end I came to the decision that I really wanted the story to conclude happily. I think the vast majority of my readers will concur. So I hoped you enjoyed your 'cheesy Care Bears bullshit' ending! LOL! _

_Well...one more chapter to go! I'll try my damn hardest not to keep you guys waiting so long for the last chapter. It's essentially going to be an epilogue set an undetermined number of years after the time of this chapter, just to tie everything up in a nice neat little package and let you know how everything worked out for our two boys and their buddies. And of course, it just wouldn't be 'Kyle in Chains' if I didn't manage to squeeze one final sex scene in there! I don't know whether to feel sad or relieved that this damn thing is finally coming to an end, LOL! Nah seriously, I'm sad..._

_Anyway, thanks for reading! Hope you liked the 'penultimate' chapter and are glad that Kyle is alive and still very much with his pee pee! Let me know what ya thinks!_

_DD_

_xx_


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